


Random

by Blessedskies_turning



Category: None - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 17:55:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20661344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blessedskies_turning/pseuds/Blessedskies_turning
Summary: A collection of poorly or not at all edited stories and tales that I write while I find a place to plant my roots for a bit.





	1. Chapter 1

The Venatrix sisters were nothing but secrets. They moved outside of society, clinging to abandoned and crumbling shelters, warm fires deep in the countryside, surviving off of bets and wagers, deals and truces made to those just as untrustworthy as themselves. These secrets kept them safe, in many ways. Kept them out of danger, from danger, but mostly it kept the danger on their side. It worked alongside the shadows, so anywhere darkness touched, they had assets and secrets buried deep as bloodlines. 

It’s not to say no one knew about them, plenty of people did. The Watch, their crossbows and long curved knives as they strut down Main Street nothing but a power trip to protect them, knew about them. To them, the five Venatrix sisters were criminals, inciting lousey vigilante justice to whoever they saw fit. 

To the rich politicians however they were radicalists doing nothing but trying to uproot the foundation of their very country. 

And to the girls, oh the girls. That was the thing that the sisters cared most about. That was the cause of their vigilant crimes, that was the fire beneath their feet. The ones that hid behind closet doors, or worked in the sew shops, or the basements of bars, or the beds of strange older men. They were bartered for, exchanged for goods and services, a wife was at once nothing but a prize to be won, a show of money or success. 

There were underground currents of these women, chained and thrown into the back of carriages and in the bottoms of boats, and then thrown to the highest bidder. 

They called them Blood Currents. 

The Venatrix sisters were the lifeguards breaching the girls from the waters. 

North pulled her hood up and kept walking. It was dark and the sky misted above her, water droplets clung to her coat. The tall warehouses grew up and around her as she made her way down the wide road. The sidewalk was illuminated by the occasional gas lamp on the street, it bounced orange off the dark cobble underneath her black boots. 

In the pockets of her coat she flexed her her gloves hands. 

The night was growing old, but this was the factory sector and it was friday, which meant bars and fighting booths were going to be open late. North had made sure all the drunks and their caretakers had cleared before making this trip. 

Master M would be in his penthouse above one of the beer warehouses. He wouldn’t be waiting for her, but North’s appearance would be all the same expected. She took one of the narrow piss smelling alleys to the back of his chosen home. It was almost five stories tall, and the moon glinted slivers of light down from the gaping windows that lined the dark building. 

The warehouse stored ale and wine mostly. But the second floor was a designated party area for Master M’s less fortunate guests. He was a jester of sorts, more refined and privileged than people thought he ought to be but an entertainer all the same. 

He wasn’t rich enough to vote or be a politician but he often said that secrets he knew gave him enough power to influence those who could. Alcohol tended to loosen the tongue so he had many secrets under his belt. 

That’s why North was here.

She had quickly learned that Master M was not only a collector of other’s most personal information, but had some of his own secrets too. A few parties and lots of spying later, thanks to her sisters, she had those secrets. And she had his career, his life, his family and friend’s safety in the palm of her hand. 

The wind buffeted around her, carrying itself through this narrow alleyway, this building was old and out of code. The lower part of the fire escape had been ripped away years before leaving divots in the concrete walls. But this arrangement was an old one, and North had learned quickly, from Leto how to shove her knives into the loose cement between the bricks and climb up. The wall was slick from the sky’s spit, North felt the cold press through her leather gloves as she worked her way up. 

Her feet slipped on the wet surface, and her arms ached from holding her weight. She remembered what Leto has once said to her while teaching her basic climbing skills, “You are going to fall. That’s not a matter of if. But what makes a good climber is if you can catch yourself.” 

Meticulously she scaled the floor up to the metal fire escape. There she pocketed her knives, shook her arms out and ascended the stairs up to the shadowed balcony just outside Master M’s penthouse. 

This building was tall but so were all the other buildings in this sector so it blocked out most of the sky. Still, North took a moment before swinging over the ladder to find her star. North was not really her name, only a title she used for those who needed a name to call her by, which of course was roughly four people. She had loved her name, it had been her mother’s and her mother’s before her. Sometimes she whispered it to herself at night, or before a rescue. Sometimes she even whispered it to the youngest of the girls they found chained in the back of carriages.

But it was not her’s anymore. That was the price she paid to pull all those girls from the horrible places, to rip them from their capturers and send them to the east, where they’d be safe or back to the families they’d been ripped from.

Her name was worth her humanity. And anything else was too. 

Finally, taking a breath she swung her booted feet over the railing and onto the spacious balcony. There were a pair of outdoor chairs and a grated table, behind them were tall windows that reflected mostly the faint glow of gas lamps and the moon’s light. If North squinted she could see the expanse of Master M’s apartment, the large dining space and sprawling sitting room. 

The double doors that led out onto the balcony were always locked, but that didn’t keep North out. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the lock picking tools she had specifically for this trip. Clara had taught her some basics of lock picking over the years they worked together, though North’s hands were never as nimble as Clara’s were. 

She knew this lock well, so after some fiddling she heard it pop open and then watched it as it swung wide, moonlight filing across the sleek flooring. She pocketed her tools and stepped in. 

It was still and dark inside, the air was scented with sandalwood. There was a living area, fixed with expensive looking embroidered couches and chairs. There was a fireplace and thick rugs. The walls were lined with art and tables with sculptures. Even the walls themselves were covered in detailed wallpapers and gas lamps.

Master M’s most prized possession lurked on one of the far walls, adjacent to the balcony doors, a painting. North had seen it before but she took a moment to step over to it. In the low light she couldn’t see much of it. He stood in front of a dark backdrop that outlined his regal figure, tall hair, narrow eyes and boxy suit. 

“I thought I heard something.” 

North spun around to see the voice that had spoken behind her. Master M stood next to the open door, light flooding around him. 

“It’s nice to see my favorite sister.” He chuckled and shut the door. He flicked the lock back to its original place and turned towards her. “Though that doesn’t mean much as I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing your other parts.” His eyes cut through the spacious room to her, brown slanted and elegant. 

“Oh you have, you just didn’t know it was them.” 

He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Funny. I should have known. You’re a sneaky woman.” 

North took a moment to examine his expression, trying and poised on top of marble features and blushed skin. 

Then he asked. “What do you need tonight, Venatrix?”

“The Trelly Gang.” 

Master M’s expression faltered. “The Trellys? Why are you going after them? They have no business in the current.” He pointed out. 

“Everybody has business in the current.” It was the truth. The current wasn’t anything new. For decades it had operated outside of public eyes, underground. Through the fight pits, and roughty bars, secret passwords and names passed from here and there. Connections and deals. It was much like the secrets Master M and North passed each other, but the secrets were lives. It had operated for so long, and so many women were lost to it that North didn’t think there were any children living in the country that weren’t descendants of its victims. “The Trelly gang has no shame.” 

“They’ll kill you.” 

The Trelly gang was the baddest. They were one of the many gangs that used their influence to sway political happenings. Except their swaying wasn’t as much as deals for money or connections, but a series of brutal murders or kidnappings or even torture. Two months before a politician had been kidnapped and so badly maimed that they hadn’t known it was him until he was given a quill to write his name with. 

They also owned a string of Fight Pits around the city. 

They called them all sorts of things. Viper Pits, Tiger Pits, Death Pits. Trelly Pits. Whoever you were you knew, if you wanted to see a good and bloody fight, you just found the underground arena with a gold clover painted on the door. 

Fights were regular entertainment for the working and even upper class, though the versions of it were dramatically different. The upper class holding tea and lunch around a velvet circular platform were two men took graceful jabs at each other and performed restrained wrestling moves. They were full of class and reserved conversation. 

The ones in the city were violent and out of hand, men yelling obscenities so loud you could hear them tear through air, alcohol and beer chugged or thrown on other crowd members. And a sandy pit in the center of all of it, awash with blood. 

Anyways, the Trellys weren’t really known for being all that penetrable. 

“No they won’t.” North said. Her sisters could handle it. 

Master M chuckled and folded his arms over his chest. “You really think that four women can break into a gang fortress of one of the most powerful gangs in the country And come out unharmed? Not only that, but manage to escape with other helpless women?” 

“We’ve done it before we can do it again.” North said flatly. “Look I’m not here to chit chat, I’m here to get whatever you know about them, and the gang and then leave. So are you going to talk or do I have to remind you why you’re doing this?” 

Master M’s smile faltered. He liked to pretend this was a friendship, cracking jokes and always smiling at her, but it was the farthest thing from it. Wordlessly he turned and made his way to the sitting room. He sank into one the green velvet chair, facing the cold fireplace, his back to her. He turned, profile poorly outlined in the light that barely managed to creep into the high ceilinged flat. Resting his chin on his knuckles he said, “You’ve got too many secrets. One day it’s all gonna come crashing down and you’ll be left with nothing but a noose.” 

North stayed where she was, against the far wall, her escape in front of her, Marcus to her left. “The Trelly gang has territory from sector 12 to nine. No other gang has tried infiltrating it, and if they did,” she took a pause, watching Master M’s sorrowful expression, “we’d know. Up until a few weeks ago the Drowning rate has been low incredibly so.” Drowners. That’s what they call the men that had their hands in the business of the Current. Drowning rates were The Watch’s reports of missing women or girls. 

They never did anything about the rising numbers. 

“They’ve spiked. Four from sector nine. Three from 11 and one from 12. That’s not another gang, that’s the Trellys. What do you know about them?” She finished pointedly. 

Marcus shook his head. Eyes closed, breath heavy. “Business business business. All you ever do is ask me for secrets I’m not supposed to know in the first place. Let alone share.” He laughed. It was a pitiful thing. It vanished quickly. “I’m not going to tell you anything.” 

“Marcus.” North warned. She slid her hand into her coat pocket. “You have to tell me.” 

“No I don’t!” He shouted. His anger dissipated quicker than it had appeared.

North cocked her head. She never had to milk information of him before, he usually just sighed and gave them up. Slowly, she thumbed the knife in the sheath on her leg. 

He held up a hand. “Not until you tell me something first.”

“This isn’t a transaction Marcus.” She slid the throwing knife out. The weight of it in her palm felt like a promise.

“YOU OWE ME!” He shouted abruptly. His arms thrown in the air as he turned away from her in the seat. She saw him try and regain control of himself, his shoulders dropped. Quietly he swore, “Fuck. You owe me, for everything I’ve told you, Venatrix. T-the things I’ve caused-“

“Don’t you dare side with the rest of them. You know what the currents are like Marcus. Don’t act like you don’t remember.” 

“Shut up! Shut the hell up!” 

North raised her knife, arm poised to throw it. Marcus was obviously losing his composure for some reason, and angry men were good for anything other than blood.

“Oh don’t do that to me.” He scoffed, sensing the readied weapon in her silence, “We both know you can’t kill me.” He spit in a growl that turned North’s stomach.. 

She threw the knife.

Weightless it soared through the air, head on to her mark. The silver dig into the back of the chair with a muffled thump. Marcus scrambled to his feet, eyes glittering as he turned to her and took a few steps back. 

“Watch how you push me. I’ve killed more men than you think. And for less reasons.”

North turned and took a few steps forward. “Look Marcus. I think you forget this isn’t a friendship. It’s my mercy, my amnesty. Nothing else. I don’t hate you, or what life you choose to live. In fact,” She got close enough to remove her knife from the chair, she ripped it out with a showy tug, eyes cold on Marcus, “I applaud you for it. With how dangerous your truth is, it takes more balls to live it than most of the men I’ve killed had combined. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you step in the way of my own truth.”

Marcus tried to school his expression from the other side of the chair. “You have no mercy. That’s why they call you what they call you, Venatrix, it means huntress, did you forget?” He mouth was still twisted with fury. North recognized this indignation, with her knives and her secrets she made him feel weak. And nothing was as dangerous as many whose pride had been bruised, if she wasn’t careful to remind him of her own cruelty he’d go to any length to boost his ego. Which meant death for both of them. 

Her words could have frozen hell, “I’ll ask you one more time. What do you know about the Trelly gang?” 

He swallowed. His well-bred collar bones stretching out artfully in the dull light. The world was nothing but shadows. Shadows and secrets. Carefully he screwed on a cocky grin and jutted out his chin. “What’s under those gloves Venatrix?” 

North shoved the chair separating them aside, with a heavy crash she sprang forward onto Marcus. He let out a strangled shout as she grabbed a hold of his neck and using her own momentum and his surprise slammed him down onto the finely woven carpet underneath. He let out a gasp as the wind was knocked out of him, along with whatever power he’d convinced himself he had over her. While his eyes remained squeezed shut North simultaneously pinned him down with her knee and pressed her knife to his throat. 

“Marcus. You know nothing about me, my family, my life. You have now power over me.  _ I control you.  _ Now. Tell me what you know or I’ll have you burned at the stake in front of the whole town with nothing but a whisper to the right man’s ear.” 

Coarsely, through his moans he whimpered , “Underground. They’re underground.” 

North relaxed her knee. He let out a spitting cough, ragged and sharp. Her knife stayed against his skin. She could see the dent in his skin from it, she felt her heartbeat surge.

“They’ve got tunnels. Not many but enough to steal a couple women I’d bet.” He coughed again, his hands going to his chest, eyes still closed. “Kaleb Trelly. His son just had his coming of age party, and is looking for a wife. I managed a weekend for him and his friends. They go to the fights every Saturdays.” His words were rushed and poorly articulated past the knife to his throat. 

North pondered for a moment. The fights were almost always filled with men, hell that would probably be the first place a women would get kidnapped, but she had her connections there too, her secrets. 

She removed the knife from Master M’s neck and backed away. The second he was free he rolled over and curled into himself, a fit of coughs rattling his chest. North crouched in the low light and appraised his pained face. “Marcus. You say I have no humanity. You say that Venatrix means huntress.” 

His eyes cracked open, his gaze burning and hateful. 

“Your right. It does.” Lowly she added, “but I’m no more a hunter than God himself. I punish those who have wronged beyond what the Lord can forgive, and the only ones that curse me are those who fear what they have already done.” She reached over and brushed a strand of straight dark hair from his face, she wanted to see his eyes. She chuckled. “You call me a monster. A blood hungry criminal, but who sends the sinners to hell? Marcus? Who refuses the souls at the golden gates of paradise?  _ Who kicked the devil out of heaven?  _ At first glance those things look like atrocities, ‘poor Lucifer lost his wings’ but do you blame God for what he did? No.  _ Because it was what Lucifer deserved. _ The people that gave me that name, they’re nothing but bitter because I managed to burn their wings to ash.” 

“You’re not a god.” He spat. He pushed himself up on his arm, his left hand still pressed to his abdomen. “You’re nothing but a liar and blackmailer.” 

“Maybe so.” She said flatly, they were at eye level. She could see all his panic and grief and confusion and hopefulness all wrapped up into one simple expression, the corner of his lip tugged back. “But I’m closer to a god than anything you’ll find in this country.”

She rose, and made her way silently to the door. Unlocking it she took one more glance back at Marcus, he was gripping the upturned chair and wobbling up to a standing position. His eyes arched over to her. She opened the door but didn’t step out. Instead she turned and hurled the knife straight into the painting on the far wall. 

It landed square in Master M’s red suited chest, directly in the heart. 

And then she was gone. 


	2. Chapter 2

Luca Hurley had nothing but the knuckles on his hand left to his name. Tall, broad and pure lean muscle he was a bull of a man. A great marble statue, one one of the rich had tucked away in their glittering mansions. His once flowing blonde hair had been roughly chopped to stubble, his eyes sunk into dark caves in his face, and his smile had all but vanished. 

He was the lion hearted Leo, too good for the sand pits his business resided in now. 

Blood, and bruises. 

Among the routy and ever restless crowds, Luca’s heart drifted. Up and out of the underground stadium, up past the numbered warehouse where worked until there bones snapped and them some. Through the grimy streets, over the cascading hills and woods, arching over the glittering mansions of the rich and the camps of wandering souls it finally landed. A small cottage in the woods. Smoke drifting to the skies to entangle with and curl around a plump hunters moon. 

A warmth in his bed, in his chest, the hearth at the end of the room. 

But instead he waited inside the humid air the underground room of the arena. The air flexed with the crowds enthusiastic roars and cries. The waiting rooms never got too quiet. But here Luca would sit on the sagging bench and tip his head against the chilly cobble. His bag sat ajar next to him on the seat, his mundane clothes discarded inside it, his coat hung up on the hook a few feet away. 

These rooms were the bare minimum, a place to sit and ponder your awaiting fight and then a place to bleed your blood and wrap your cuts and then leave a normal person.

The wall thumped with feet and fists and child like revealing. The pit right now, held Flame and Thumper. Flame was quick and dashed to and fro, and Thumper was more like a sluggish boulder that swung slow but knocked you out if he landed a punch. They made a pair, that was for sure. The crowd ate it up. 

When Luca had first arrived to the numbered Trelly Pits, it had taken some time to adjust. Where he was from, each opponent walked out on velvet rugs, shook hands inside a sleek square arena and then took practiced and skill shot at each other until the round ended.  He’d gotten knocked flat his first fight here. 

There were no rules. 

No, there were. One, no gouging of the eyes. Two, no weapons. Three, no suffocating. 

That was it. Luca had adjusted soon enough, he would have died if he didn’t. Buy the hands of his opponent, or by a disease he caught from living on the streets. Oh the things he knew. The things he had seen. To think that all that got him here, in a sweat filled room waiting to dance around in bloody sand. 

But it was worth it. 

_ We can’t have everything, but we can have this. Maybe this will be enough to make us happy.  _

Reaching into his bag Luca pulled his trousers, out of the pocket he produced a playing card. Creased and sun bleached. The edges were thick with fraying, the feel of it familiar against his fingers. Two of Clubs. He pressed the card to his mouth. 

The light in the small cottage flickered on, the fire danced in the hearth. 

There was a stark thump at his door. 

Luca made quick of the card. 

“Enter,” He called. 

The door didn’t hesitate as it swung open, golden light fracturing into the room, a round figure stood in the doorway. It was Peter. He was the manger. The white shirt on his back was stained yellow in patches, his suspenders struggling at the made their way over his shoulder. “Your almost up.”

Standing up Luca made a point to check his hand wraps and tighten his shorts drawstring. The floor was cool on his feet where his toes stuck out of the cloth wraps. They couldn’t wear shoes in the pit, it slowed them down. “Who will it be tonight?” 

“Uhh,” Peter checked his clipboard, “Bo.” 

Luca considered what he knew about the red head. Mid height, good size but nothing too big, young. “Sounds like a breeze.” 

Peter clucked. They made their way out of the room and down the shadowed hall to where this dank shelter opened up to the lit pit via a lumbering door. Luca was unsure about how the door ascended, but all Peter had to do was crank a lever off to the side and then up it went, gears and chain echoing off the sound of a roaring crowd. Luca readied himself at the edge of the large door, he could hear the announcer roaring as the two opponents were hauled out of the sandy area from a similar door across from the one Luca was at, and then he began to rattle off a speech meant to get the men riled up about Luca. 

Before this was over Peter said, “You know what the boss likes, keep it interesting.” 

“Are the Trelly’s here tonight?” 

“Yeah. All I'm saying is, don’t kill the poor boy five minutes in. Tease it a bit.” 

Luca gave him a two fingered salute and a short nod.

“LUCA THE LION!” The announcer thundered, it drowned out the sound of his racing heart. The Trelly’s were here. His mind wandered to the card hidden in his bag but then the door began to growl open, light flooded in, washing over Luca’s bare feet and his shorts and then his waist; the sound of an electric crowd not far behind it. 

That was the one thing that Luca actually liked about the pits in the city, there had never been a rich politician or a check that got his heart beating just as much as that did. 

Pushing his thoughts far from the secret in his pack he stepped into the ring, arms spread wide, head tipped up. The crowd flourished into a frensize of encouragement and rage. How all these working men had the energy to get this voracious about the fights after a week of long shifts Luca didn’t know, but he was thankful for it all the same. 

Above him in the pit they circled the whole building, wave and waves of seething men, there must have been three hundred of them here tonight. 

It was a whirlpool, and Luca was at the center of it all. 

Later the night Luca did the duties of cleaning the pit. The arena was empty and quiet, the seats barren, the only memory of the fights was left in the buzzing electricity that hung in the air and the taut muscles and loose exhaustion in Luca’s shoulders and core. Usually the cleanup crew did this work of scooping all the bloodied sand out and into a bucket to be washed and dried and then raking the pit, but Luca had other plans. 

In the thirst of the fight Luca hadn’t had time to catch Atticus’s stone gaze but he knew it had been there, among the crowd. 

Meticulously he shoveled the ruddy sand into the metal bucket, making sure to pick up all the stained bits.    
Thankfully Luca had the last fight of the night, so by the time he’d drank enough water and wrapped his hands the cleanup crew had finished their sweep of the upper seats, which meant Luca’s offering to clean the pit wouldn’t seem out of place. His hands ached something wicked. The fight hadn’t been quick. Much to the Trelly’s delight he’d dragged on the dance between Luca’s much more technical advancements and Bo’s loose swings and tackles. Luca felt a pang of guilt as Bo hobbled through the open door, a bruise already rise up on his cheek; conveniently the size of Luca’s fist. But that was just business. 

Luca thought about the burning card inside his back pocket. His shirt itched around his collar bone, where he’d scuffed himself on the sand. 

There was a wash station at the end of the dark hall underneath the arena, Luca carried the bucket under the ghostly light to the wobbly sink. He banged the faucet on and shook the bucket as it filled with water. Cleaning sand was a weird sensation. You ought to think they’d just replace it, or leave it bloody, but there was a reason why the Trelly Pits were the best in the area. Luca shifted the ground rock into a fine cloth that he used to ring it out, after several batches the washed product was then layed out on a large flat surface to dry. 

In the coming days someone would scoop this sand into another bucket and spread it out across the pit to be covered in blood another day. 

Luca almost liked this process. The act of washing away all his crimes down the drain, to spread anew across this circular prison for yet another day of sins to be committed and blood to be spilt. He never felt bad about his opponents limping home at night after this. 

Just as Luca knocked the faucet off and dropped the bucket back into the stack it had come from, he felt the air go stale. There was always something about the whole building—about Luca maybe that — that shook for a few days after a fight. Adrenaline still coating the back of his throat, the echoes of all the shouts still bouncing off the walls of the arena. 

But on nights like these, that something, those screams, Luca’s still racing heartbeat, stopped. The air was silent once again. 

It was like there had never been any noise at all. 

Luca could have lived like this. 

“That was a good fight.” All the muscles in Lucas went slack as a voice from behind him resounded off the greasy stone walls. “Its was long though.”    
Smiling Luca leaned against the grubby sink, he watched water drip off the faucet into the dark bottom of the basin. “I was told the Trellys were visiting tonight, I thought I'd give you a show.” 

“Yeah,” The voice was nearer now, breath grazing over Luca short hair, “but I wish you would have dodged more of his hits, it pains me to see you get bludgeoned like that.”   
Luca turned finally to see the approacher, Atticus’ slate eyes snagged his own. He was close enough Luca could reach out and pull him even closer still, instead they held each other in observation. “Is that right?” Luca teased. 

Atticus did nothing but let the edge of his mouth crawl upwards. He looked like a boy in this 

light, but they were both too far from that for Luca to believe it. He was hidden under a lavish black cloak, and tall dark boots. Atticus was muscular, thanks to his father's training but he never got as big as Luca. “How are your hands?” He asked, stepping forward. They were close enough to feel each other’s warmth slide off their skin and into the air around them. Atticus each down and gently took Luca’s hand in his own. He brought it up in the sickly orange light and pressed his lips to the tip of each knuckle. 

Luca watched his hands as they slid over the bandages. His fingers were long and soft, opulent in all lights, thought Luca rarely saw them outside of artificial flames. Where Luca’s were calloused and bruised Atticus’ were slender and unblemished. 

Something flickered behind Atticus. 

Luca went stiff. Atticus’ gaze felt like lead on his skin. “What?” 

“Shh.” Luca said. His eyes fell heavy on the open arena door, the gas lights were still burning, a shadows danced between them. Someone was here. “Get in the room?” 

“Wha-” 

“Atticus listen to me,” Luca placed his hands on his shoulder and tried to steel his expression. “Get into the room and lock the door. I’ll get you when it’s clear. Knock twice.” 

Atticus’ lips trembled a bit, but he listened. His figure disappeared into the dark of one of the many rooms that lined the short hall, Luca waited for the quiet click of the lock before starting down the hall. They knew the risk of these meetings, but they both also knew what would happen if they didn’t do this. 

He strode out into the light filled arena, gaze pointed towards the high catwalk the announcers stood up that encircled the top of the pit. There he found four women. 

All dressed in black, heads hidden in hoods, spread evenly around the platform. He knew the masks they all wore, half black, the other half white with a tear trailing from the eye. He gazed up at them. “Why are you here? I paid my price!” Luca shouted up into the rafters at the figures. They didn’t even budge. 

Except, one raised her hands. She proceeded to make gestures and motions with them, Luca was lost to their meaning, but not the meaning of the act itself. Luca had never seen sign language in person, it was quick and confusing, he guess the woman was translating for someone else. He examined the group of ladies for wandering eyes. Who needed the translation. He never got it. 

Then one of them spoke, she too moved her hands along with her words, “We have an agreement do we not?” Her hands were hard and slow.

The Venatrix sisters were thought to be an evil thing, Luca had never thought that. He wasn’t angry that they were here, their deeds were noble even if they were illegal, Luca was merely surprised. It had been months since he’d seen North. Too many.    
“Yes.” Luca said. “You keep my secrets, I keep yours.” 

There was a flurry of hands from the woman on his right. The one in front of him waited for her to stop and then spoke back. “I need to cash in on some interest then.” North spoke booming and loud, her voice was enough to rattle the air again. 

“About what? I don’t know anything but the pits.” 

Reaching up North pulled down her hood, her hair was tamed and pulled back, then, she removed her mask. Her piercing gaze drove a knife into Luca’s chest. The marks were bigger and shaped differently but the essence of them remained the same. Norths darkened skin had been sucked dry of pigment around her eyes and over the bridge of the nose, some had crawled into the edges of her dark brows. She wore a mask, even without the mask. “You know that’s a lie.” 

“It’s nothing but the truth.” Luca knew why she remained on the catwalk, this wasn’t a particuarlly friendly meeting, she needed her distance in order to be accurate. Luca knew just how accurate she was from that distance, it was the distance she learned at. “After all this time, and this is the greeting I get?” 

North was quiet. The women surround the pit were eerily still, they seemed stunned almost. North had taken her mask off, something she never did. “I keep my secrets watched, Luca. Don’t forget, you are one of my secrets.” 

“And you’re one of mine.”    
The one to his right translated. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. She’d grown up since last, worn, tough and knowing was all that was left now. “How do you think I knew you’d be here? Just one simple favor there, one small question here, fill in the blanks with the things I know, and bam. Your late nights at the pit, and someone’s empty bed makes so much more sense.” 

Luca stilled. 

North had known about the small flirts of a much more naive Luca. A young foregin boy who bandaged up their boxers cuts and gashes and then quit and moved to the city over. But now, now she knew about Atticus. 

“Forget it.” Luca spit. 

“What do you know about the Trelly gang? Luca.” North growled back.    
“No.” 

“Why?”    
“You know why.” Luca met North’s hard gaze with his own, a deal was a deal and North was prodding for more than she was going to get. “Don’t forget that I have my own secrets too. You might know about my habits, and my vices, but those are nothing compared to yours. I know more about you than anyone in this room right now, aside from you.”   
North’s mouth twisted into a frustrated line. Luca saw the women cast glances at each other, questions and answers flying back and forth. One of them was still translating. 

“The Watch had been after you since you began this escapade, but they never find anything because there simply isn't anything to  _ find.  _ But imagine if they knew what you looked like, your past, who you were. Your  _ name.  _ One whisper to the right person and your whole operation would unravel.” 

“I’ll kill you before that happens. I’d kill you right now.” 

“Then do it. Leave my body in the sand so it can soak up the blood. But we had a deal.” 

That’s when they erupted into a whirlwind of signs and gestures, signals and eyebrows moving wildly under the masks. Luca felt dizzy on his feet. First North shows up, and then she demands knowledge that would surely end Atticus’ nightly visits and now she threatens to kill him. This was all too much. Exhausted seeped deep down into Luca’s bones. It was far too late for this, not enough rest. Luca ached for the light in that cottage. 

North placed a hand in the air. Moving her hands to her words she said, “A deal is a deal. All we’re trying to do is get to the girls, you know that. So just give us something to work with, Luca. Please.” 

The girl returned to her. 

But Luca couldn’t. “I’m sorry. I am. I know what our kind is like, trust me,” He glanced down at his bruised hands, felt the tears in his muscles, “and I support everything that you do.” He turned to gaze at each masked woman as he spoke. “I admire it. North, I loved-” 

He should have been more careful about his words. There was a pointed burning sensation on his calf, he looked down to see a splatter of blood in the clean sand and in it glimmered a small throwing knife. 

North’s words boomed from the catwalk. “That’s not enough. Your woos aren’t enough. They aren’t shit. Call us brave, call us noble, call us saviors but as long as you sit here fisting your hand when I ask for a crumb  _ you  _ might as well have kidnapped those women. Raped those women. Enslaved those women. Those who look apon cruelty and do nothing are just as wicked as the perpetrators themselves.” 

Luca watched the blood soak into the sand. “I love you North, like a sister. But I love something more.” 

North was quiet for a long time. Her silence stung more than the gash in Luca’s leg. 

“You’re smart. You have connections, everywhere. You’ll find a way.” Luca finally offered after a long time. “A deal is a deal. You keep mine, I’ll keep yours and we go our separate ways. Just like you said.” 

North swallowed, hard. Then she put her mask back on, dragged her hood up and they all filed out the hidden door at the top of the catwalk. 

Luca stood there for an achingly long moment, feeling his heartbeat as it ran away and then slowed, his leg still burning, knife in the sand. After too long in the pit her climbed the ladder up to the platform and locked the door again. By the time he got to the door Atticus was hidden behind he could feel the ache of fatigue digging under his skin.

He knocked twice. 

When there was no answer, and the door did not unlock Luca panicked for a moment. Fearing the sisters had done something wicked in the moments Luca took to himself in the arena. But then he tried the door and found it unlocked. 

Atticus was gone. 

Down the tunnels and finding his way home again most likely. Luca could have sletp standing up that night, but he dragged himself home under the blueish light of the moon. His bed wheezed as he lay down in it, his heart with it too. 


	3. Seraphina

“Why don’t you try smiling? You’d have more fun that way.” Marcus Deleon was an agile thing. He sidled up next to Seraphina and smiled, although not politely. 

Seraphina hated crowds, especially without any weapons on her, so for now she lingered in the back of the looming ballroom. Distantly she wished that she’d hidden at least a dagger somewhere on her person but she didn’t want to risk the guards finding them on her when they searched her. That would have gotten her thrown in jail at best. When Marcus approached her she was leaned against the stone wall that backed the hall, eyes tracing the crowd. 

“Silent, just as expected. And in pants!” Marcus continued, casting a glance down at her outfit. “Do you have something against skirts?” 

Seraphina slid him a bored look. “No.” She hadn’t put too much weight behind her reply but Marcus knew better than to try her. Seraphina was probably the most dangerous thing in the room, and it was a large room. It had to be to hold so many people. A wedding was enough to call together a family, but the wedding of the Minister’s oldest daughter was another affair altogether. 

When the Minister had announced that he’d intended to find a husband for her men had flocked 

from every side of the country. All carrying sacks of gold and promises of vast lands to rest at Estera Blooworth’s feet. Or rather, her father’s feet. 

The giant ballroom was filled to the brim with people. Politicians and their Hands, and all of their families. Staff floated around the space, dressed in black and blue uniforms with trays plied with cakes and wine. Even the arched ceilings were crowded with thousands of little paper birds hung yards above her head. Vases filled the the brim with flowers, a large sting band moaning away in the corner, and voices rising and falling with the crowd. If she focused enough she could pick out some of the conversation but she wasn’t interested in anything that they had to talk about. 

She eyed the guards lining the room. Their swords tucked neatly against their sides, the blue and gold armor characteristic of any of the Castlewatch shining in the candle light. Most of them couldn’t do much against someone who wanted to cause real damage and she resented the rule against weapons in large gatherings. She’d have to seal a dagger off of one of them to cut Marcus’s tongue out. 

“That was a nice fight this evening.” Marcus recalled the match that had taken place earlier that night. When all Seraphina did in reply was give a small nod he continued, “I suppose you’re not surprised however.”

“Prescott did his job. I did mine.” She watched a few young girls float by, their bewildered chaperone rushing to follow them into the swell of bodies. 

Marcus laughed, sharply. 

Seraphina turned and studied him as he lifted his glass and took a deep swig of wine. “If you think I’m going to tell you something important you’re misled.” 

He raised a telling eyebrow at her. “No Gregory, it’s not secrets im looking for from you.” He had fine features; high cheekbones and a graceful curve to his lips. From what Seraphina could tell he wore an expensively detailed shirt, made of red velvet with gold leafing on the cuffs and hems. His black boots were glowing in the candlelight. 

Seraphina turned back to the crowd. “I’m not working for you Marcus, stop asking.” Across the ballroom, over the sea of swaying bodies she could just make out the tops of the newlyweds heads as they sat poised at the long table on the other end. When she had entered the hall Seraphina had seen the whole Bloodworth family stretched out over one side of the table. Minister Bloodworth was seated next to his daughter, shoulders proud, distracted in conversation with another Lord Counselor. The air smelt sickly sweet thanks to the mounds of fresh roses pouring out into the room. 

Everything here reminded her of her father. 

Marcus continued next to her, “You’re the best female legionary-” 

“I am the only female legionary.” Seraphina corrected him. 

“Precisely. And the best battle coach from here to the Southern Seas. I need you on my team.” 

It was turn for Seraphina to laugh. “Marcus you throw parties and weddings for Lord Counselors and Minister’s wives.  _ You _ don’t have a team.” 

Marcus fixed her with a look. His mouth twisted into a demeaning smile. Seraphina wanted to grab the fixed pouf of jet black hair on his head and rip the grin off. “You know it’s much more than parties. I know things, it goes beyond even money. I have power. I can give you anything you want.” 

“You have whispers and rumors.” Seraphina leaned in and pointed towards the table at the far end. “If I wanted something that could be given to me I’d go to Minister Bloodworth. He certainly has more control than your dirty secrets, he’s the king of this whole country.” 

Marcus’ smile didn’t even falter. “There are no kings in this country Gregory. We killed them all a long time ago. I thought you would have known that.” 

“The Lords of the Counsel are just a bunch of men pretending to be emperor of the same empire.” Seraphina couldn’t look at him any longer so she just directed her gaze to the center of the room. There was a space cleared there where groups of men and women could perform dances. Complicated orchestrated movements around the space Seraphina didn’t understand. Most girls of any standing were taught how to dance, play music, cook and even studied poetry but Fredrick Gregory didn’t have the taste to teach his daughter any of that and Emmeline Gregory was six feet in the ground. Seraphina couldn’t dance the Daario but she could teach another man to win a fight. 

“And what about you,” Marcus asked. “Do you think you have power? If the Lords of the Counsel are all sick with their titles then what does that make you?”   
“A woman. Nothing more.” 

“You don’t really believe that do you? I mean look at you, you’re an unmarried woman with no remaining family who’s trained a talented pit fighter. You have me, here, begging you for your skills, as well as any other man with half a brain.” 

“And who do you think gave me my  _ skills _ ? The only thing I have control over is myself and that 

in itself a privilege.” 

Marcus waved a hand at her, turning to scan the swaths of people. “I must say when Prescott picked you up as a coach we all thought it was a practical joke. A woman in the business of The Pits? Unheard of. But you seem to have proved us all wrong. Im glad I am not a betting man, otherwise I would be in a pile of debt as of now.” 

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” 

“It was an observation.” 

“Tell someone who cares.” 

Marcus huffed a laugh and raised his glass as that. “You have a talent of getting under ones skin Gregory.” 

“Why are you still talking to me? I gave you my answer, no.” 

“What do you want Seraphina?” 

“What?” 

Marcus grinned. He gestured at her with his glass of wine. Slowly, he explained, “ _ What do you want?  _ I have been trying to figure that for months now and I can’t put my finger on it. You see, every man in this world wants something he’ll do anything to get. Power, money, love, attention. Offer him it in return for what you want and bam, clay in your hands.” 

“And what if he says no? What if he already has it?” 

A large part of Marcus hadn’t been expecting Seraphina’s questions but the small part that did said, “Then you take it away from him, and he’ll come running to you. But that doesn’t answer my original inquiry Gregory.  _ What do you want? _ ” 

“What do  _ you  _ want?” 

Marcus’s teeth flashed. He raised his glass and then proceeded to drink all of his wine in one gulp, he made no ceremony of placing the glass down on the table beside him. “A lot of things Seraphina. And you?” 

Seraphina pushed off the wall, she’d had enough of Marcus’ games tonight. 

“An eye for an eye!” Marcus called as she walked away. 

Before she disappeared into the crowd entirely she turned and smiled at him. “Same thing I’ve always wanted Marcus, to survive.” She tapped two fingers against her temple in mock salute, turned and eased her way into the throng before he could answer her. She made it a few steps out of sight before making her way over to the side of hall where there was more space to move around. The ceiling was lower here and the staff used to to easily get around the ballroom. Lightly armoured guards stood at intervals along the wall, swords on their hips, eyes tracing for danger. 

From here she had a better view of the table at the far end. 

Seraphina had almost no memories of the castle itself but returning to it was still startling. 

When she’d agreed to coach Prescott her goal had never been to work her way up to this. Prescott had been a lowly pit boxer, fighting on the weekends for the scrappy tips they gave him. Seraphina had scoured the sands for weeks searching for someone who looked like a decent enough bet and Prescott had been the only one that showed any glimpse of promise. Now here they were, fighting in a castle match for the wedding of the Minister’s daughter. 

According to Prescott it was a feat only a Gregory could accomplish. Whether it was her prowess in the field or his downright tallent he didn’t seem to mind. They were both happy enough to be out of the dirty pits in the city and into the pristine sands of the higher ups. 

They’d arrived that morning to the castle, and as Seraphina watched the city fall back and the mammoth walls of the keep approach her heart hadn’t stopped thumping against her ribs. It’d only stopped when she stepped foot in the ring to guide Prescott through warmups.

It was the only place she could think some days. Today had been one of them. 

In her head Seraphina could hear her father, “A castle is built to withstand armies, not men. It was made in the time of kings not poachers. You are not safe there. You will never be safe.” She could protect herself, she knew that, but here in the stone walls of the fortress and without any weapons, standing deserted in an overly crowded ballroom she felt like every brush against her shoulder was punch to the ribs. 

All the Kings were dead but the castle remained. Ancient and haunted. 

Her father had never failed to remind her of the horrors this country carried in the dark. The stories of women being whisked away in the night. If you were poor they sold you off, auctions and midnight deliveries. The lucky ones were the wives and daughters of rich men, they’d be held in some secret bunker or attic for ransom. If the husbands cared enough to buy them back they’d be returned unharmed, if not they weren’t ever seen again. Wives were expensive these days. The Lord Counselors had made this practice illegal but as far as the ten counsel men cared it only concerned their own families. They had cared enough to make the practice illegal but never to enforce the law. 

Emmeline Gregory had been one of the unlucky ones. The details had been drilled so deeply into Seraphina’s mind that it was like recalling a memory instead of a story.  _ _ She heard her father say,  _ they killed your mother what makes you think they won’t kill you!  _

She wasn’t safe here. 

“Gregory!” 

Seraphina was brought out of her trance to see Prescott wading through the throngs of people a few feet in front of her. She acknowledged him with jerk of her chin and waited on the outskirts for his arrival. He was a little out of breath when he finally caught up to her. 

Prescott was a peculiarly built man. Seraphina wasn’t short by any means but most boxers towered over her, where as Prescott barely managed to beat her in height. There was a nasty looking bruise beginning to spread under his left eye and his hands had been bandaged but he’d still managed to clean up some after the match. He’d traded his shorts for dark pants and an undershirt and an embroidered jacket she’d seen him wear before.

He motioned her forwards and they drifted down the length of the hall. Everything was lively about them, laughing and singing. The dances carried out with the music to guide them, everyone was smiling over their wine glasses and speaking through mouths full of horderves. Seraphina had watched this play out all night from a reserved point of view, heart aching in a unfamiliar way. “Prescott. You look like you’ve been enjoying yourself.” She said giving him a look down. 

He bore a champions smile. His brown curls fell around his shoulders and his cheeks were 

colored with wine. As they walked he looped his hands behind his back and said, “The drinks are free and I am Estera Bloodworth’s victor. All thanks to you no doubt.” 

Sera acknowledged this with only a curt bow of her head. “You did your job. I did mine.” They dodged a servant carrying a stack of empty trays. “Feeling sore?” 

“Always. But the wine helps, have you tasted it? Much better than the ale they serve down at the pits.” 

“I’ll take your word for it Prescott.” 

“Of course you will.” He sighed, deep. She’d met his expectations but not his hopes. That was one of the reasons she’d picked him to coach, he seemed to always have two halves of him. One part realistic and the other with his hands reaching for stars. It was a feat she’d yet to see any other man accomplish as well as he did. Hope was an enchanting creature, and once you let go of the reins it’d gallop until it tripped. That and the fact that he never stopped smiling when he was in the pits. Even after he’d been punch in the mouth his teeth glittered with blood. “Having fun?”

Seraphina didn’t answer. They had been invited to the celebration by way of courtesy. There had been a few matches that evening and every single one of the boxers had made an appearance tonight after their fight. Seraphina had even watched Prescott mingle with his opponent for a few minutes. The coaches were all invited as well, meaning Seraphina had been required to come. If she could have justified it she wouldn’t have come but Prescott insisted. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to enjoy herself, part of her smarted at the sight of all the girls roaming the space, decked in jewelry and dresses fit for queens, but she couldn’t forget her father’s words.  _ They killed her because she wouldn’t give up.  _

With twisted of his mouth Prescott continued. “On to business then. I suspect you’ll be jonesing 

to leave soon.” 

Seraphina gave Prescott a look. 

“Alright then. You do remember our deal?”    
“That you’ll up my cut for the night if I talk to the Lord Minister. Yes I remember.” 

Prescott smiled and paused. They were standing between two of the large columns that held

the soaring ceiling above the ballroom. Across from them the writhing mass of people looked like it was a solid living organism. All they needed to do was join arms and they’d unite into an unstoppable force. His words brought Seraphina back into her body, “Well then let’s get it over with. I can’t go up there alone I won’t know what to say. You’re my coach we’re in this together.”   
“Fine. Let’s go. But that cut goes up to forty percent.” 

A smile flashed on Prescott’s mouth. “Nothing less for my coach.” 

They moved through the crowd. Water against rock. Weaving through the bodies like thread through a needle. The sea of people abruptly ended in front of a line guards, faces like rock, swords neatly tucked under their arms. Past the guard a few steps led up to the great table that housed the entirety of the bride and the groom as well as their families. Seraphina could see the newlyweds chatting away with another guest who stood in front of the table, her and Prescott would be up next but for now the guard held out a hand to signal them to stop. 

Seraphina took this time to scour the table. 

Apart from the bride all of the Bloodworths were wearing the signature dark blue colors of their family. At the far end was the youngest Bloodworth, Alistair, a small boy who looked perpetually bored. He had a head full of loose brown curls only worn by the youth and he fiddled with the food on his plate. To his right was what looked like his Governess who seemed just as disappointed as he did weary. To Alistair’s left were two empty seats. It was a mildly peculiar thing but Seraphina knew the seats to belonged to the two middle children, Nestia and Lucien, as she had seen them sitting there when she entered the room. The most puzzling thing was who came next; Gabriel Hollins. He wasn’t a Bloodworth so his presence at the table was surprising. Hollins was the exact same age as Lucien and from what Seraphina had heard everyone called them The Twins. They were decidedly not brothers, judging by the shade of his hair but their mothers had been good friends. They’d also gotten pregnant around the same time, gave birth on the same night and raised their sons together. 

Apparently Gabriel and Lucien had grown up so close that rumors speculated they were never apart, they moved in sync and some he whispered they shared a room. Some rumors took more liberty than others Seraphina concluded seeing that at this moment Lucien was away at the party and Gabriel was sat next to-

Alcott Bloodworth was sat right next to his oldest daughter observing the conversation she held with her guest but not speaking. He had the same brown hair his youngest son did but the bits around his temple were shot through with gray. For a small moment Seraphina tried to imagine her father looking as Minister Bloodworth did, she couldn’t. Minister Bloodworth was aged in the way only a politician could be. Something about him still held all the poise and refinement Seraphina had imagined him holding. Around his neck hung a large gold pendant. 

The metal glinted in the candle light, heavy. It was the mark of the Minister. The other nine Lord Counselors wore pendants of their own but the Minister’s was by far the biggest. When he died, or retired his chosen successor would take his place--most people thought it was going to be one of The Twins--and along with his land and his power he’d pass down the pendant, as had his predecessors before him. 

Seraphina felt eyes on her.

Hollions was studying her and his eyes didn’t waver when Seraphina stared back. She didn’t put any hostility behind her expression but she didn’t try to make it inviting either. She’d mastered this cool look ages ago. Most people glanced away when she leveled it on them, more interesting people stared back. This was a fight she wasn’t planning on loosing.

Something moved through Gabriel's eyes, a passing torch that was gone as soon as it appeared. 

Recognition. 

His nostrils flared. Gabriel turned to Bloodworth, mouth moving as he whispered something 

Seraphina had no chance of hearing into Bloodworth’s ear. It was easy to guess what he’d told him because Bloodworth’s gaze quickly abandoned the guest in front of his daughter and focused on Seraphina. Seraphina held it. After a thin beat the Minister’s mouth opened in the slightest bit of a gape. Seraphina felt her eyes sharpen and the edge of her lips curl. 

Bloodworth regained control of his countenance and gave an inconspicuous bow of his head. Next he turned to the guest standing in front of him and slid something into the conversation with ease. Almost as if the discussion had naturally come to this abrupt stop the guest gave a small nod of his head in departure and slid down the steps back into the crowd. 

The guards let Prescott and Seraphina step up to the table. 

As she climbed the step Seraphina now saw that Bloodworth had focused his full attention onto her, eyes unreadable as he watched her approach. Prescott bowed per his manners but Seraphina just stood with her hands behind her back, looking back at the Minister. 

Estera Bloodworth appeared more than elated at the arrival of her champion and her husband regarded him with a pleased smile. 

Prescott put a hand to his chest, “I am Liam Prescott and this is my coach-” 

Minister Bloodworth interrupt him, his voice grand, “Seraphina Elaine Gregory.” He smiled when Prescott’s gaze stuttered up to him and then back to Seraphina. Seraphina wasn’t surprised. He continued, “I know a Gregory when I see one. Your father and I were very close.” 

“I know.” Seraphina replied.   
Prescott gave her a wary look, but his smile returned effortlessly. “I do imagine you’ll have much to talk about then.”   
“Oh yes. I have more than one story of Freddick and I running into trouble. He was the finest warrior i’ve seen in many years. You are a lucky man Liam Prescott.” 

Prescott beamed at that. Seraphina made a mental note to make him do extra laps around the pit for the next training session.

The groom cut in then, “No wonder you won that fight this evening.” It took no time at all for the two of them to dive into conversation. Prescott’s voice remained under controls but there was awe crackling underneath the cool exterior. As they battered away Seraphina stepped over to Bloodworth, his eyes were more than beckoning.

Bloodworth put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and said, “You probably know of Gabriel Hollins.”   
They shook hands across the table. Gabriel’s look was knife sharp. 

Seraphina didn’t rise to the challenge. “What gave me away?” 

“It’s the eyes. Whoever did your father’s portrait did a more than fantastic job at capturing them.” 

“Have you seen it,” this was Bloodworth. “It’s hanging in the library if you’d like to see it. So is your mothers.” 

“Why?” Seraphina asked. 

Gabriel’s expression faltered. He shot a look over to Bloodworth who didn’t even blink an eye before replying, “Well like I said, you father was a great man, and one of my best friends. His history is our history, he deserves to be honored. And Emmeline Gregory's death was a tragedy. Fredrick couldn’t bare to keep the portrait so he told me to deal with it, seeing that as I felt Emmeline should be honored I had it hung there to remind us all.”

Seraphina felt something hot and intense curl up in her stomach. “My father was one of the few men in this country to love his wife.” 

“Yes of course.” Bloodworth’s tone was perpetually diplomatic. He gestured towards Seraphina “And his daughter.” 

Seraphina lowered her eyes in recognition.

“I was so sad to hear of his passing. I regret I couldn’t make it to the funeral as I was quiet busy with some business at the time. How was the ceremony?” 

It had been Seraphina, alone in the spitting rain coming rest her father’s dagger on his casket. 

Emmeline had given it to him on their wedding night and he’d kept it with him ever since. On the blade of the shiny silver knife her name had been engraved along with the words,  _ To The Grave _ . When he’d died Seraphina had debated keeping the knife as he had when Emmeline died. Her father never said anything he didn’t mean. So to the grave it was. Four men lowered her father’s body into the ground, Seraphina watched them shovel the dirt over top of him. And then she walked away, that was the last time she’d let herself cry about it. 

With some effort Seraphina said, “It was quiet.”

Bloodworth smiled, “It pleases me to hear that. He did prefer the silence to,” he waved a hand at the bustling party behind them, “all of this.” 

Often times Seraphina had wondered if she was more her father than her mother. “Of course.”   
Then came Gabriel’s voice, “Is it true? That after your mother was killed by the poachers your 

father trained you in battle?” Bloodworth gave Gabriel the slightest turn of his head in correction of this question. Gabriel’s gaze flicked over to Bloodworth but quickly returned to Seraphina in eagerness. “Sorry if that sounds harsh, but the history books never say and one can’t trust rumors.” 

Seraphina considered her next words. “Yes, that’s correct.” 

“May I ask why? It is a peculiar thing, most fathers would decide to guard their daughters not put a weapon in their hands.” 

“My mother was guarded. That got her killed. My father was a quick learner.” 

“But wouldn’t arming a woman defeat the point entirely? I presume the pickiest of men would call it,” he paused then, searching for a word, “brutish. Unladylike if you will. ” 

This is exactly why she didn’t want to be here. “Better a brute of a daughter than a dead one.” 

Bloodworth cut in then, “Precisely why you’re standing here today. I must say, your father may not have come here with much but he was far wiser than any man I've known in my days. Hollins here is quiet the admirer of your father’s legacy, as I’m sure you know.”

“Minister Bloodworth is always saying how legendary your father’s skill were. He was set to teach Lucien and I once we were able to hold a sword but he gave up his position at Lord Blooworth’s table before we were old enough. Lucien and I would love to spend an afternoon under your instruction if you would agree to it.” 

“Of course you would.” She slid Bloodworth a glance, he was grinning down at his glass. “However Prescott’s training takes first priority since he is the one that is paying me.” 

Gabriel didn’t get the point. “Surely we could manage to pay your for your time. I doubt Mr. Prescott would be against sharing you for a few hours. He’s welcome to attend as well.” 

Seraphina held Gabreil’s eyes for a poisonous beat. Gabriel’s expression didn’t even twitch, something about the way he held his head gritted against Seraphina’s nerves. She was briefly reminded of Marcus’ earlier words.  _ Every man in this world wants something he’ll do anything to get. _ Slowly, her voice poised with warning she replied, “I mean no offense Mr Hollins but I don’t plan on returning to the castle any time soon. I’m sure you can understand that. Seeing that my mother’s throat was slit in these very walls im not very keen on staying either, so if you’ll excuse me I will be returning to my flat in the city now.” 

“Leaving so soon!” Bloodworth said either oblivious to the drip in Seraphina’s voice or painfully aware. She went with the latter. “Your father was never one for parties either. He was true as an arrow I used to say. Well,” Bloodworth stood then. The gesture knocked the look on Seraphina’s face off kilter. She regained control of it quickly enough but couldn’t help but notice the way the conversation next to her went still. “If you find yourself in need of anything do not hesitate to send word to me or one of my hands. You will always be welcome here, as was your father.” He held out a hand. 

Wordlessly Seraphina shook it. Gabriel caught her eyes and bowed his head but didn’t attempt anything else. “It was very nice to finally meet you.” 

Seraphina turned to Prescott and the newly weds. Her skin was crawling. “Thank you for 

inviting me, it was a lovely ceremony. Prescott,” she held up a finger, “You have a week to rest up and then i’ll see you on the sands.” 

Without waiting for a reply she turned and made her way down the stairs. 

The guards paid her no mind as she passed. Seraphina directed her feet towards the large opening of the hall and didn’t slow until she crossed the threshold into the wide hallway that fed into the rest of the castle. There was an unsettling feeling that etched it’s way over her then, one that she couldn’t describe. It was just as foregin as it was disquieting. 

She would feel better once she got her weapons back. 

The castle was an ancient beast around her. The halls were peppered with wandering guests and thoroughly decorated with flowers and banners. She didn’t meet any of their eyes and tried not to look at the swords of all the patrolling guards. 

It had been a long time since she’d thought this much of her mother or father but as she slipped towards the stables their ghosts followed her. Every bruise she’d ever earned from her father and every sliver of memory she had of her mother came back then to prick her in the side. It writhed around in her chest like a sickness she couldn’t cough up.  _ By the time they heard her scream it was too late. They wanted her, they knew I would pay but she fought back. They killed her, they couldn’t risk her identify them and they didn’t have time to drag her out of there so they killed her. Stabbed her in the chest and left her there to die. They will find you. They will do that to you. They won’t stop unless- _

Suddenly the halls were too small. As towering and as grand as they were Seraphina felt like she was going to burst out of them. 

Around her heavy wooden doors were the only breaks in the stone wall. She needed to find fresh air. Rounding the corner up ahead her prayer was answered. There was an archway framed with torches and past that the castle opened up into the courtyard. Seraphina stepped out into the night. 

The air was dewy and fresh around her. A cold breeze cut through Seraphina’s shirt but she welcomed the sharp feel of it on her skin. The cobblestone path lead warily around the gardens in the courtyard, there were waist high rosebushes and a couple of small fruit trees with benches tucked underneath their branches. In the middle of the garden, rising up from the center of a pool of water was a statue. Seraphina picked her way over to it. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath of air, it felt like ice in her lungs. 

She took the time to steady herself in her boots, watching the darkness on her eyelids. She pinched the palm of her hand, focusing on the sharp smarting of her nerves. It reminded her she was alive. Seraphina went through the fight that had happened earlier that night, going through the mental list of notes she’d made while watching Prescott on the sands. There was plenty to think about. Prescott was good but he’d barely scraped by in this fight and there was always work to be done. After a few minutes of replaying everything in her head she finally felt herself relax.  _ _

With her heart slowed Seraphian gazed up at the statue looming above her. Growing up she’d heard stories of it. 

A faceless man stood stoic against the backdrop of the castle. He held a sword high and aloft above him. Everything about him was victorious, from the fist at his side to the angle of his chin. A single crown hung around the blade of the sword, a mark of the dead kings. Below the feet of the man, inscribed on the knee high stone wall that held the pool of water were the words the Lords of the Counsel had adopted lifetimes before. _For The Greater. _Below the effigy in the water would be thousands of shimmering coins, wishes made by all powerful and small. After the uprising, after the crown had been melted to form ten of the pendants the Lords of the Counsel wore now, the castle had become a more public place.   
It still housed the politicians and their families. It still protected them from siege or hunger but people were allowed to take tours. They could stay in some of the rooms, eat in the dining hall. It was _for the greater_. 

The faceless man was bigger than Seraphina had imagined him to be. In the darkness the figure had also managed to look somewhat eerie. More threatening then is was glorious. 

Her skin itched. 

Frogs croaked somewhere. The sounds of the party had all but disappeared apart from the distant rumbling of bodies. Near her ear a bug buzzed around, the sound of its wings hungry. 

Then suddenly, the sound of whispering came into sharp clarity. 

She jerked her gaze to the other side of the statue. People were standing on the wide path that curled around the pool of water. Painfully Seraphina realized that in her haste she hadn’t even noticed their presence. In the back of her head her father’s voice shouted a sharp warning to never make it again, especially not here, not now. She could feel bile rise up in her throat. This kind of thing would have earned her a night without dinner or a particularly punishing spar with her father. 

_ You are not safe. You are never safe. _

Her nerves smarted with remembering. 

From across the walk Seraphina couldn’t make out any distinct faces but she could make out the silhouette of a boy and a girl and what looked to be three armed guards standing behind them. The guards had no deal in the couples conversation but something about the way the boy and the girl stared each other down was electric. 

Like Seraphina had spoken aloud the girl snapped her head over to where Seraphina stood. Seraphina made no attempt to move. The boy’s gaze followed the girl’s attention over to Seraphina and suddenly all the tension in his shoulders melted away. He wasn’t satisfied however because he turned back to the girl and said something sharp before thundering off. One of the guards followed him and Seraphina watched as he strode by. The light in the garden was low but she made out the shape of his nose, the brown color of his hair, the night blue color of his jacket. 

It could only have been Lucien Bloodworth.

Which meant that-

“Brothers, am I right?” Nestia said from where she still stood. 

It took a second for Seraphina to find her words, “I wouldn’t know.” 

She chuckled and joined Seraphina where she stood in front of the statue. “I’m Nestia.” She held out her hand. 

“I know.” She had waves of long brown hair Seraphina wanted to run her hands through. Half of it was pulled up in a mess of braids and twists, the rest hung down in swaths. Her smile was small but honest and the dress she wore was decked in little blue flowers Seraphina guessed had been painstakingly sewed on by a seamstress. 

Nestia laughed when Seraphina didn’t shake her hand and turned to face the sculpture. “Of course you do.” 

The guards had shifted around them when Nestia had stepped over. Now they stood on either side of the pathway Seraphina had entered from. Facing away, hands on their swords. Seraphina forced her attention away from them. 

Nestia was looking at her now, eyes unreadable. 

Seraphina focused on the inscription on the edge of the pond. “Why is he so upset?” 

“Because I am right and he doesn’t like it.” Nestia let out a breath and finally turned her gaze away from Seraphina. “He’s going dig himself into a rut but no one listens to me do they?” Her voice was distant. 

“It would be a better world if they did.” 

Her smile appeared again, turning her gaze back onto Seraphina. Something about the way Nestia’s eyes fell on Seraphina made her palms itch. She could feel the ground beneath her. The wind at her back. “Thank you for saying that. I’d have said it but I didn’t want to sound too full of myself.” 

Seraphina shrugged. 

“You should tell my father that. Maybe he’ll make me his successor. Lucien and Hollins would have my head.” 

“Not if I killed them first.” 

Nestia gave her a amused but warning look. She nodded her head in the direction of the guards. Seraphina’s gaze flickered over to them but returned to Nestia in a flash. Nestia said, “I never got your name.” 

“Seraphina.” 

Nestia repeated her name again, purposefully, carefully. It sounded like a promise. What she was being promised Seraphina didn’t know. “It’s a pretty name.” 

Seraphina nodded in agreement. This made Nestia laugh, although Seraphina found it hard to feel like she was being laughed at. The sound of it felt like a gift she was being offered. Seraphina watched it bubble out of her, sudden and electric. It was hard not to smile.

“Are you always this honest?” 

“Yes.” 

She laughed again. It filled the night air around them. Seraphina had the sudden urge to plunge her hands into the chilly water of the pool and fish a handful of coins out for her.  _ Here make a wish.  _ After a moment Nestia’s laugh subsided and she sighed directing her head up towards the sky. “Mmm. It feels good to be out of that  _ stuffy _ room. Is that what you’re doing out here? Escaping? Smart, I can see why.” 

“Isn’t there a limit to how many people you can let inside a room? I’m starting to think they’ve gone over. I can’t imagine what it’s like in there when everyone knows your name” 

She waved her hand in distaste, it was covered in rings. “My father is always making me talk to men at these things, trying to get me to fall for some rich land owner or something alike. Can’t wait for the day he can smell me off like Estera. He’ll make a fortune off of it that’s for sure.” 

“Do you not want to get married?” 

“I don’t hate the idea. It’s less about the idea of getting married and more about the idea of that being the only thing I’m expected to do.” 

“You could always refuse.” 

Nestia’s eyes found Seraphina. They were sharply amused at what she’d just said. “I wish it were that easy.” 

“It is. All you have to do is put a knife to his throat and say no.” 

“Did that work for you?”

“Most of the time.” 

“And the other times?” 

“My father was a strange man.” When Nestia cocked her head Seraphina continued. “He refused to marry me off. Even if I’d wanted it I don’t think he’d of put up with it. I could of begged him and he would have thrown a sword at me and told me to get up off my knees, thankfully however, I was never keen on the idea.” 

“You know how to fight?” Nestia said. Her voice was weightless. 

Seraphina didn’t get a chance to answer however because a voice rose up behind them. Both Nestia and Seraphina turned to see a man standing between the guards. The guard on the left had put his hand out to stop the man from advancing. “The Lord Minister isn’t paying you to take a stroll, get back to the kitchens.” The guard’s voice rumbled. The man was wearing the black shirts and blue apron distinctive of castle kitchen staff, it was clear he was not where he did not belong. 

One of the first lessons Fredrick Gregory had taught his daughter about fighting was the that the heart was the only true part of a person. The heart never lied. It never deceived. You could always trust the heart.  _ When you are fighting there is no time to think, you must feel. There all the knowledge lies.  _

Seraphina stepped in front of Nestia. 

The guard’s voice rose up again “I said-”

The knife was out in the space of a breath. The guard flinched at the sight of the dismayingly long blade but he didn’t have enough time to react. The waiter plunged the blade into one of the only part that wasn’t covered by armor, his neck. There was a wet gurgle and then the guard went limp.

Behind her Nestia swore, shocking, coming from the Minister’s daughter. She looked to the 

guard on the right, “Do something!” 

The guard drew his sword but the waiter didn’t even blink at it, he just yanked the knife out of the 

other guard's neck and let him cumple to the ground. Then he turned his attention on Seraphina. She was a woman. She didn’t have any weapons. She wished she’d gone back for her weapons.

Seraphina had heard this story over and over and over again. It was her father’s creed. It was her mother’s legacy. This was had ran through her veins. The lifeforce pumping through her heart was this story. A girl. Her existence valuable and vulnerable. Taken, used and killed. Seraphina would not be one of them.  _ You will not be one of them,  _ her father said. 

The waiter charged. 

He wasn’t expecting Seraphina to do the same. 

Her blood sang with adrenaline.

The sudden determination in Seraphina’s movements threw him off but he lashed the dagger towards her anyways, aiming for her eyes. She’d already calculated how long his arms were. In one fluid motion she stepped back and watched the edge of the knife wiz by and then reached up to grab his wrist with her right hand. A shocked grunt escaped him when she caught his arm, it quickly turned into a yelp as she jerked his hand to the side. She gave his wrist a gnarly twist. 

He cried out and dropped the knife. Seraphina was already reaching up to grab it though and caught it before it fell. This small victory didn’t last long. He swung his free hand around, trying to clip her on the cheek.   
She was already moving. 

Jerking his arm inwards Seraphina yanked him inwards. In a fight you were scratching for space, pulling you opante into a hug was not a priority but she had a knife. His fist didn’t connect instead it wheeled around in the space behind her. 

With the blood slick knife in her left hand she reached and plunged the metal into his thigh. He let out a grunt. It would have been easier to slip the blade between his ribs but she didn’t want to risk nicking something important. Seraphina pulled the knife out of his leg and shoved him off of her. He landed somewhere on the cobblestone path with a loud moan. 

She was turning her focus on the other guard before he hit the ground. The guard still had his sword out but now it was pointed directly at Seraphina. Seraphina bounced the knife into her right hand and met his stare. The guard looked sick. The edge of his sword wobbled ever so slightly. He had on a light breastplate and chainmail covered his arms. Seraphina had no armor and only a dagger. This was going to be interesting.

He made a move to step around Seraphina but she shifted in front of him, her eyes never leaving his face. They’d come for Nestia. Seraphina knew this. She knew it the moment the waiter had pulled the knife out. She’d heard this tale too many times to count. She felt weightless. Memory crackled at the back of her head. Her body was afire. 

Behind her, Nestia’s ground out, “What are you-”   
Seraphina interrupted, “He isn’t a guard.” Her voice was as even as the sands in the pit after a good raking. She still didn’t look away from the guard. “Stay behind me.” This is what she was made for. This is the thing her father had raise her to do. He was standing next to her, correcting her grip on the blade, telling her to _keep your eyes on his face, don’t look at his hands you know what he’s going to do_. She licked her teeth and tasted blood. She was alive. 

He moved first. They always did. 

Nestia shouted, “Guards!” 

With a sword the guard could keep Seraphina at a distance and if she wasn’t careful he’d cut her open before she got close enough to do any damage. Seraphina was always careful. He swept the weapon at her, aiming for her legs. All it took was a step backwards to clear the blade, he obviously didn’t expect her to put much of a fight up. 

Seraphina twirled the knife around in her fingers. It was showy flourish that did nothing but make the guard’s eyes widen. It was enough. 

He swung again. His hacks at her were wide and exaggerated giving Seraphina plenty of time to react. She stopped it with the knife, metal biting against metal. Her heart was a bird. Pulling the sword back the guard didn’t waste time in slashing at her again. He was messy and didn’t know how to wield the weapon efficiently. Seraphina swung her knife at him, he stumbled backwards forgetting about his own weapon entirely.  _ You mustn't be afraid to get cut, do not think about the pain think about the winning.  _ The guard growled and went after her. Seraphina hooked the sword with her knife again and moved her hand in a circle. The steel screeched. The dagger was study in her grasp but the guards grip shook with the effort to hold onto his sword. He pulled back. 

When he recovered and then thrust the sword at her. 

She stepped to the side to avoid the sharp blade but that had been exactly what he wanted. The guard dashed to his left, pivoting with his sword, keeping Seraphina at bay with it’s sharp edge. In order to avoid getting cut she had to pivot. He’d put himself between the statue and Seraphina. Nestia. Distracted, Seraphina spared a glance over the guards shoulder. 

This was a mistake. Seraphina had been taught to protect herself, she wasn’t used to having to think about  _ other  _ people. She filed that away for later. 

He pounced. 

But the guard and also made a mistake. The small step he took forwards before he cleaved down with the sword spared Seraphina the split second she needed to block his swing with the dagger. There was a sharp clang. The nerves in her hand shimmered with the impact. She could feel the ground underneath her, she could feel the stars pulling her away. Everything and nothing in the universe was compacted into the inches of metal between her and her life. She held her entire world in her palm. Seraphina stepped forwards. Close enough to land a kick straight into the guard’s chest. He grunted and stumbled backwards, Seraphina followed him. They were closer to the edge of the pool of water than he expected and the back of his legs careened into the wall, coming to a halt. 

The rest of him didn’t stop. 

His top half went down into the water. The sword long forgotten Seraphina moved on him. With all the armor the guard was wearing there was no way she could offer him the same mercy she’d given the waiter. He thrashed, trying to straighten. Water sloshed around him, spilling over the wall and the ground beneath. Seraphina came up above him, leaned over the wall, grabbed the front of his chest plate and- 

The water below clouded, the color of wine. 

The guard let out a gasp, it curdled. He coughed, once. Blood spurted out from his mouth and the hole in his throat. Another cough, this one was less effective. His eyes searched the sky above. What did he see? 

The world went still once again. 

Seraphina let out a long breath, her hand still poised on the man’s chest, eyes closed. This was the worst part. Her father’s voice was looming in the back of her head now. She pushed it away, this is not what she needed to hear right now. 

The moment didn’t last long. Letting the guard slump into the water she jerked the blade free and straightened. She swept her gaze over the space.

Nestia. 

She’d listened to what Seraphina had told her, unfortunately. The waiter had somehow regained enough strength to stand, he’d also pulled out another knife. This one was small but mighty and he had it pressed to Nestia’s ribs. It was framed by the little blue flowers sewed onto her corset. His right hand was wrapped around Nestia’s neck. Seraphina could see her clawing at his grip, trying to get a decent breath in.   
Seraphina sighed. 

There was a clamoring of armored bodies ringing somewhere in the distance. 

“Stay back!” The waiter shouted.    


Seraphina didn’t listen. It only took her a couple of steps forward to close much of the distance, but when she got close enough for his taste he whipped the knife towards her. They were still a few feet apart, she couldn’t reach him from here, not with the knife and couldn’t risk getting any closer. 

“I said, stay back!” 

Nestia’s face was pink from effort but she caught Seraphina’s eyes. Her expression was unreadable again, but something flickered behind the mask. A candle. A forest fire. Nestia swung her hand down, clipping the waiter in the thigh. Right where Seraphina had stabbed him earlier. The man’s voice was thin with pain. His grip on both the second knife and Nestia fell away as he crumpled down on the ground once more. Nestia wasted no time flinging herself away from him. She stumbled over her own feet, hands going to her neck. 

Seraphina moved. 

She managed to scoop Nestia up before she hurdled all the way to the ground. Nestia swiveled as Seraphina’s arms looped around her. She hooked her arm around Seraphina’s neck. Holding herself up as she caught her breath. It was then in that brief moment Seraphina noticed how blue Nestia’s eyes were. Little hairs stuck out around her face, freed from her braids in the skirmish. She smelt like some sort of flower. Quietly Seraphina said, “Good thinking.” 

Nestia smiled, a little breathless. “I’m not completely helpless.” She shifted to stand and Seraphina helped her to her feet. 

“You bitch.” The waiter said when they’d straightened. Seraphina rolled her eyes. Using all the effort he had he wobbled to stand, face pinched. As the man steadied himself Seraphina put a hand on Nestia’s shoulder and moved her behind her once again. Suddenly, a pack of guards burst through the stone arch way Seraphina had entered just minutes before. Their eyes traced the court yard, swords already drawn. It only took them a beat to notice the mess of bodies just feet away. 

Seraphina met the waiters gaze as the three guards swept up behind him. She gave him the same disinterested look she’d given Gabriel earlier that night. He considered the swords pointed at him, probably judging if he could fight them. He was surrounded. But when had that stopped anyone? He hurled himself at Seraphina, operating from pure rage now. Seraphina waited a heartbeat and then stepped to the side. She caught the waiters foot with her own and he toppled onto the stone with a grunt. 

For extra measure she placed her foot on his upper arm to keep him from rising again and cast the knife in her hand away. It hit the stone with a ring. The man was swearing and cursing now, most of it mottled in dirt. Nestia said, “Hell hath no fury.” When Seraphina peered at her all the girl did was smile and shrug. 

It was then that the Minister, The Twins and a hoard of guards swept into the courtyard. The three guards surrounding Nestia and Seraphina moved to the side to let them through. Alcott’s eyes went wide when he saw the mess of bodies. Immediately his gaze flickered to Nestia and then to Seraphina and then back to the bodies. “What the-” He didn’t finish. The Twins expressions were equally as shocked, both of their mouths twisted in anger and their pupils blown wide in worry. Maybe there was some truth to the stories. They’re eyes didn’t linger on the carnage long enough though, they both gaped at Seraphina. Their mouths hooked with wonder. 

Seraphina turned back to Nestia. She looked, pleasant. Almost as if she didn’t full understand what had happened, or rather she did and she liked it. Seraphina had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. Then she offered her hand out, Nestia took it with a grin and stepped over the waiter, lifting her skirts as to not drag in in the blood that leaked out of his leg. Seraphina watched Nestia as she made her way over to her father, still keeping her foot on the waiter’s arm. He was moaning about something under her foot but she couldn’t hear it. All she could focus on were the waves of brown hair that fell down Nestia’s back. 

The Minister had found his words. “What in all glory happened here?” 

“Poachers.” This was Gabriel. Beside him Lucien was eyeing his sister, his face a mess of worry, relief and anger. Seraphina briefly wondered how so many emotions could fit on one man’s face but she didn’t spend too long on the thought.

Bloodworth studied Seraphina for confirmation on Gabriel’s answer. Nestia also turned to look at her, her face tame and flat now standing in front of her father. Seraphina forced her gaze back to Bloodworth and nodded Then he asked, “And the guards?” 

“The first one was killed by him,” Seraphina jerked her head to the man under her foot. “The second...well if I were you I’d question the rest of your Castlewatch.” 

Calmly Bloodworth considered the mess in the courtyard. The armored body draped over the pool of water, the mirror of blood surrounding the other guard's body. There was no grief in his eyes, merely facts. Finally he said, “Take Nestia to her room, I will be there in a moment. Lucien go with your sister and don’t let anyone in the room. Hollins you as well. If any of them are bleeding by the time I get there everyone of you will be loosing your jobs.” He directed this last bit towards the three of the guard’s he’d chose to escort his daughter. Without much ceremony Nestia and The Twins marched off, disappearing through the arch way. The only evidence they’d ever been there was the sound of the guards following them and. 

Then the Minister looked to Seraphina. 

Two of the guards stepped forwards. Seraphina took her foot off the waiter and they seized him. He shouted when they got him upright. There was a glob of red spit that landed somewhere near Seraphina’s boot but she merely watched as he too disappeared into the castle’s walls. As slow as tar, feeling came back over her. Goosebumps rose up on her arms. She could smell the blood on the ground, it choked all of her senses. She could feel her palm tingling with the fight. 

Seraphina was leaving. “Like I said earlier, I don’t really want to be here. It was nice to meet you Lord Minister.” She stepped over to the Minister and moved to shove past his guards. They parted easily enough but the Minister hooked a hand around Seraphina’s arm. 

“Gregory.” 

She whirled on him. She couldn’t help but notice the way the guards clamored when they flinched. Metal hissed, the sound of a sword being drawn. Her eyes didn’t move from the Minister. She was inches from him face, she could smell the wine on his lips. He looked a little pale. After pointed beat Seraphina ground out, “I’m leaving.” 

He didn’t move to let go of her. “At least let me say thank you.” 

“I didn’t do it for you. Let go of me.” 

His eyes were calculating, mouth distasteful of something. His grip was stone around her arm.    
Seraphina flicked her gaze to the abandoned body of the guard on the cobblestone, then to the 

hand gripping her arm and then back up to the Minister. 

The pause was long enough to starve. 

He let go. 

Seraphina didn’t look over her shoulder when she walked away and didn’t stop for anything but her weapons until she’d locked the door to her flat. That night she dreamed of her father, a river of blood and night blue flowers in her her hair. 


	4. Pit Viper

“What did the Lord Minister say to you?” 

It was early afternoon a week after the wedding and this was the first time Seraphina had properly thought of the events of that night. She was aware Prescott was just trying to get her to say something--he hated the long lengths of silence Seraphina liked to run unchecked. They were sitting in the empty arena seating at the pit, watching two other pit fighters wrap up their training with their perspective coach. Prescott’s slot on the sand was up next and perusal they’d shown up early. 

Seraphina slid Prescott a look. “Are you even watching them?” 

With a cheery scoff he replied, “_ What _did the Lord Minister say to you?” 

“Don’t call him that here.” She directed her gaze back to the pit below. “And nothing worth any importance.” 

“Well then what did you say to him?” 

“Why does it concern you?” 

Prescott just blinked at her. When she didn’t say anything else he sighed and turned back to the people in the pit. Seraphina recognized one of the vipers, considerably short with narrow hips and long legs. His stark blonde hair shaved close to his head, his washed out appearance making him look as if he’d been scrubbed clean one too many times. His name was Marty and he was half decent for how long he’d been fighting in the pits. Prescott had never fought him but he often had the training slot right before them and always made an impression with his sideways jeering and disdain towards Seraphina. 

She’d never payed too much attention to it but Prescott always preened when he sent glaces their way. Often times when it happened she couldn’t tell who she wanted to punch more. 

Seraphina hadn’t thought much of the night of the wedding. She’d spent the week purposefully dodging those thoughts, making room for walks and shopping and exhausting herself with her sword whenever she could in order to escape it. She’d gotten good at it by now and as stubborn and persistent the memory of Nestia’s smile had been she’d chased it away. 

Now, without anything to do and Prescott’s grilling it’d returned full bodied and annoying. She knew better. There was no hope in that line of thinking. Seraphina would remain in her tiny flat in town, her dead father’s voice all too demanding that she avoid the castle at all costs. And Nestia would either perish at the hands of poachers or spend her life under the heavy eyes of politics. Considering Seraphina wasn’t a conventional kind of woman there was no room for their friendship. 

She pinched the inside of her left palm. Trying to focus hard on the sting of it instead of the thoughts racing around in her head. 

_No,_ she told herself. 

The more thought she put into it the more Seraphina realized that she quite liked her life as of now. Under her current employment her skills remained sharp, she was relatively introverted in life and she was no longer carrying anyone’s life in her hands but her own. 

Part of her wished she’d asked the guard's name. 

Part of her wished the castle was a place she could bring herself to live. 

If there was one lesson she’d learned from her father it would have been that wishing was a dangerous thing. 

_ Brothers. _

Seraphina focused on the pit fighters below. 

_ Are you always this honest? _

_ You know how to fight? _

Down in the pit Marty swung at his sparing opponent and clipped him on the chin. The man stumbled back and Marty pounced on him. They were down on the sand in seconds, Marty’s arm snaked around the other man’s neck and chest rendering his opponent paralyzed. It had been a clean take down. Prescott didn’t seem to be watching however, he was readjusting the cloth wraps on his hands. They’d both already changed into sparing gear; shoe-less with feet and hands wrapped in shorts. Seraphina had her long dark hair pulled up in braids and Prescott had a towel flipped over his shoulder. 

The pits transformed into an entirely different building during the day. On fight nights the seats that encircled the pit were packed full of jeering men. Their hearty laughter and shouting echoing off the walls and around Seraphina’s chest. There were two small platforms on either side of the pit for the staff and coaches to stand. They was set further down to pit level to minimize the obstruction of the audience and had a single bench in the back for people to sit. There was a small gate for medics and refs to jump into and out of the pit from. Other then slipping through the small railing from the platform to the audience the only other way to get out of the pit was through one of the two large wooden gates. 

Set in the pit wall adjacent from one another the doors would raise and fall to allow 

fighters and staff on or off the sands. On the other side of the doors was the belly of the pits. A wide circular hall hidden underneath the stands leading to counting offices, the medics workroom, maintenance closets, and warm-up and cool-down rooms for fighters before and after matches or training. 

“Gregory!”   
Both Seraphina and Prescott spun in their seats to see Morris standing in the open audience door to the pit. 

Morris was a stout man with a sweaty face and rocky voice, he liked to talk alot and often would sit in the seats during training and nab about this and that. Prescott would do most of the conversation lifting, offering comments and questions sprinkled between tasks but Seraphina just let him ramble. If he was someone else she might have told him to give them peace and quiet but she couldn’t help but give him an inch. He and Prescott had been one of the few men in the pit fighting business that hadn’t completely brushed her off or attempted to shove their hands up her shirt and she respected them for it. 

Morris managed the pits and oversaw all the training slots so it wasn’t odd to see him this time of day but something about the set of his mouth set Seraphina on edge. She waited for him to continue but he didn’t say anything, instead he motioned for her. Prescott gave her an inquiring look but she ignored it, stood and climbed the steps up to him. 

“Morris.” She said and glanced to the bright hall behind him. It was empty. The hallway that stretched past the door opened up to the street and light washed in from the large window, bathing the smokey hall in early afternoon sun. 

All Morris said was, “You have a guest.” 

Suddenly all Seraphina could think about was her short sword she’d left down in Prescott’s warmup room. Last time she checked the pits wasn’t the place for taking business meetings. “They can wait.” 

He started, and then stopped. Sending a glance over his shoulder he insisted, “I don’t think you should keep him waiting.” 

“It can wait.” A whistle came from behind her. Seraphina pivoted to see the three people down in the pit collecting their things, the coach had whistled to ensure Seraphina had seen. With that Seraphina turned back to Morris, “Tell them to catch me another time. Im working.” Prescott was waiting for her on the steps down to the pit. As she was just about follow him down onto the platform another call came behind her.   
She was getting tired of this. 

“You wouldn’t try and run away from me now would you!” The voice was pleased and honey rich. Alcott Bloodworth was standing in the doorway, gaze trained on Seraphina. Suddenly she was aware of all the eyes in the room. At the Ministers bekon the three people still in the pit had gone still mid way to the door and they all flicked their attention to Seraphina now. She cursed under her breath but didn’t reply. 

Behind the Minister were two guards standing stoic and indifferent. Alcott’s clothing was more plain then it had been at the party, switching out for a polite dark brown waist coat and vest. His smile was small and dishonest, disquieting eyes giving away all his tricks. Leaving the guards behind the Minister began his dissent towards Seraphina. Morris watched him go looking pleased. 

“Lord Minister, It’s nice to see you again,” Prescott said when he approached. “If I’m speaking truthfully I thought I’d seen the last of you.” 

Alcott shook the hand Prescott extended. “With Gregory and your talent I don’t doubt you’ll be on castle sands again in no time.” It was just then that Seraphina noticed how alike Nestia and her father looked. She had the same fox like face, delicate high cheekbones and deep set eyes--her eyes were the same shade of meddling blue as his but they took on a different shape. Nestia’s were round and soulful, framed in wispy eyelashes. 

That didn’t matter, Nestia wasn’t here. 

Beside Seraphina, Prescott replied. “I’m honored you’re here, if not a bit confused. If you’re looking for a fight I don’t know if you’ll get one.”   
The Minister laughed. “Why, are you afraid I’ll win?” 

“No, I have reserves about punching politicians.” 

“Why are you here?” Seraphina asked. 

Prescott sent her a glace but didn’t say anything. Across from her Alcott’s face went dead still for a second and then the facade was back. Seraphina wished she’d had some kind of weapon on her just so she could feel a sliver of control. Instead she settled for giving him a demeaning grin, it was more in her eyes then in her mouth but he got the point. Finally he continued, “Always a charmer, Gregory.” 

She deadpanned, “I’ve been told I have an attitude.” 

Beside her Prescott tried to cover his laugh with a cough. Alcott caught his eye and wrung a smile off his face. “Is that so? I can’t imagine why.” 

“I’d appreciate it if you answered my question and stopped wasting my time and Prescott's money.” 

At this point Alcott had gotten used to Seraphina’s crassness so it didn’t even phase him. “If you would give me a moment alone with Miss Gregory.” He said this to Prescott who nodded and moved to step back. 

Before he could slip down onto the platform Seraphina turn and said , “Laps.” 

“Why don’t you let the man rest,” This was Alcott, “He deserves some time off don’t you think.” 

Seraphina didn’t even turn to look at him, just looked at Prescott and repeated, “_ Laps. _” 

“Don’t worry Lord Minister,” Prescott told Bloodworth with a reassuring glance. “This is what I pay her to do.” With that he hopped down to the platform and then into the pit. Once Seraphina saw he’d set a nice pace around the perimeter she turned back to Alcott who was scanning the seats. Seraphina couldn’t tell if it was an appreciative glance or if he was looking for secrets hidden in the arena but either way she didn’t care to find out. 

“I know we didn’t get started off on the best foot,” The Minister’s voice was low, attempting honesty. “I have not earned your respect, or for whatever reason I have lost it. I know it would be a feat to regain it but I’d like to try. Your father and I were such good friend it would be a shame to let that go to waste.” 

“My father is dead.” 

Alcott had a quick forward way of speaking. He was always tip toeing around his words, leaning into the K’s and Ch’s. “Yes I know. Do you grieve still?” 

Seraphina let the words linger in the air for a beat. Then, “No, I just don’t know why your friendship with him would influence my distaste for you when he’s in the ground and you’re not.” 

“Ah I see.” Alcott replied with a nob and smile. After a moment he cast his eyes over the pit, turning to face it fully. “You’ve built yourself a comfortable set up it seems.” 

Seraphina didn’t reply. She knew it would have been polite to answer his comment with one of her own but she choose against it. Her father had always told her politeness was a weakness. If you spent too much time thinking about making others feel good then you’d loose yourself in the mix. Seraphina could never loose herself. 

“I hope you haven’t mentioned the events of my daughter’s wedding to anyone.” This 

was low. “I usually like to handle my politics more openly but seeing that as this problem concerns no one but my own blood I’d decided against that. For Nestia sake.”

_ How fitting, _ Seraphina thought, _ he’s decided this is an isolated incident _. 

Once Seraphina had asked her father why he chose to teach her how to fight instead of spending his time hunting down the people who’d killed her mother. He answered with something to the tune of, her mother was dead and there was no taking that back. It was safer for Seraphina for him to be concerned with keeping her alive rather then trying to be a savior. 

Kindness was often a fault. A deadly one. 

She pushed the comment aside. 

Alcott went on, “I’ve launched an internal investigation. It hasn’t turned up much but we 

do know now that both the Guard and the waiter were not official castle staff. Meaning, we don’t have any inside influences. Yet. I’ve had my Watch Hand combing through the guards double time and I’ve personally assigned all of my most trusted ones to Nestia’s care. We’ve taken all the necessary steps to ensure my daughters safety but…” He trailed off, eyes intent on Seraphina’s face. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Seraphina wasn’t at all surprised they were able to infiltrate the castle staff. It wasn’t the most secure of processes. The castle was open to anyone these days, visitors were able to go as the pleased and there were too many different branches of staffing for everyone to know everyone. The most difficult part would be getting your hands on a uniform but all you needed to do was kill or rob someone. 

The Castle Watch was a bit more difficult. Men couldn’t risk having their prizes whisked away so easily in the night so the counsel spent more resources on keeping the castle guard secure. There was a code of honor. They were sworn in and the Minister’s Watch Hand spent each and every day looking for anything suspicious among the hoards of men assigned to guarding the castle. The castle legionary also spent time with each and every guard new and old working to build their skills. Many of the older guards were all army commanders so they didn’t need much training but it offered another layer of vetting. 

Alcott smiled down at his feet. “The world is a strange place. It echoes. Your mother perishes at the hands of inexperienced poachers your father then dedicates the rest of his life to teaching you how to defend yourself and inturn you protect Nestia. I loose my friend but years later, although he is in the ground, in a way he helps me keep my daughter. What I’m trying to say is that, I can’t stop feeling as if this was the conclusion we were meant to come to all along. Call it what you may, fate or god, but I haven’t been able to push it from my mind.” 

The thing about Alcott was that he _ was _an agreeable man. Straight laced, goodnatured with an easily summoned smile. But for someone like Seraphina that wasn’t enough. Most people would have looked upon the genuine concern on his face and been endeared by his enthusiasm for his daughters wellbeing. For Seraphina however, it wasn’t the actual action that mattered but rather the reasoning. Often times the motivation behind a deed told more about a persons morality then the deed itself. Seraphina wasn’t dumb enough to think Alcott was doing this because he downright wanted his daughter to live. It was about the money. He was protecting his investment.

Seraphina felt inclined to count the seconds of her time Alcott was using up. A quick glance to the pit confirmed Prescott was still mincing around in the sand. 

“Freddrick was one of my closest friends.” Alcott started. “We spent quiet a substantial amount of time together outside of counsel meetings. I could always trust him. No matter what I knew he would tell me the straight forward honest truth. I see that in you. It’s a rare thing to find. People always want to bend something to fit their story, their opinion, their image.” 

“I don’t care what others think of me-” 

“-as long as it’s the truth.” They stared at each then, Alcott’s eyes pleased, Seraphina’s caught off guard. This shook her more then she expected it to. It wasn’t often that something surprised her, she was always too on edge for it to but this had. Suddenly she realized that Alcott might not have been lying about being close with her father, she hadn’t known she’d suspected he was exaggerating about it but now it was clear it was how she’d felt. 

Seraphina had yet to find anyone that understood her like her father had and it was almost heartening to know Alcott had managed to crack the code. 

What people often misunderstood about Gregorys was that they were painfully simple people. Everything they did had elementary reasoning or defence but people tended to over complicate them and got it all mixed up along the way. 

Seraphina had long ago excepted her roll in this world was be the rabbit and not the hunter and everything else she did in life boiled down to that simple fact. 

She wore pants because she found skirts hard to fight in. She hated the castle because her father had always told her she wasn’t safe there. She disliked Alcott because he was a politician and politician’s lied, and lies took time decipher and made her feel cornered. Everything came down to her survival. 

With a smile Alcott asked, “Is there anything of your mother in you?” 

“I wouldn’t know.” Seraphina had met her mother but she died when she was three so she didn’t remember anything of her. “My aunt said she was quiet.” 

“Yes. She was very shy. A mystery to everyone but her husband I suppose, but who am I to judge that? Women escape me. Strange beings. You’re nothing like most of them.”

“Do you think thats a compliment?” Seraphina’s words were a viper on the floor between them. 

Alcott knew better then to rebut her completely, instead he said, “In a way. When I proposed this meeting to my advisors they all thought I had lost my mind. But they don’t know you as I do. You’re not like most women, you have the skills of a man.” 

Seraphina bit down on her tongue, hard. Silently she reminded herself of the guards standing at the top of the seats. “If you’re trying to pamper me for whatever you’re meaning to purpose you’re failing Lord Minister.” 

“Ah. I suppose I am. Let me get straight to the point then.” 

“Please.” He’d spent so much time dancing around the real reasoning behind his appearance that Seraphina had begun to think was none to begin with. 

“Nestia is young still, but with her sister now married it’s clear to people it won’t be long until the last Bloodworth daughter is officially married.” Alcott clasped his hands behind his back and turned to watch Prescott down in the pit who was now stretching out on the sand. The outline of his profile made this whole thing sound secretive and illegal. “Marking her less valuable to poachers. To them she’s, for lack of a better word, ripe for plucking. The attack this week was only the beginning of what I suspect will be a downpour of attempts in the coming years. Now more then ever Nestia needs protection, and while I can divert my own time to ensure her safety I cannot give as much as would be required. I am run thin enough. What I need is someone I can trust. Someone skilled, honest and--” He said this part the beginnings of a smile-- “well, lets just put it this way, unconcerned with the feelings of others when charged with a task.” He looked over at her then. “I need you Seraphina.” 

Seraphina let the air hang as she observed the Minister. The only thing that she could think was that although the Minister had gotten close to understanding her he’d missed his mark. 

_ This world will ask of you, _ her father told her one night as he tucked her into bed, _ to think of others the way I have taught you to think of yourself, and while some may have that virtue _ you _ do not. They will call you cruel and cold but you must always remember _ you _ are the most important person in _ your _ life. _

“I’m asking you to lead the defense of my daughter. Stand by her side, vet guards, train them, lead them. Ensure she remains safe. You’d be offered room and board free of charged and you’d have free use of all of the castles resources. I would pay you of course and if you’d like to keep training Prescott we could make arrangements.” 

Slowly Seraphina said, “Minister, you have misjudged you I am. Who my father was after my mother’s death. I’d like to think there was a world where he wasn’t so consumed with what happened, and maybe there once was, but the man you knew and the man I knew were much different people.” 

“What do you mean by that Seraphina?” 

“I _ mean _ -” she paused, her memory floating back to her father. There had been so many good parts of her childhood. She lived with her aunt for a while, her father often out on jobs across the country. He’d slip in her door at night, home from long trips, to kiss her on the forehead. _ Little one, _he called her. 

But there had also been cruel parts. Seraphina, age eight in tears as her father finally told her about her mothers wicked demise, being told that she was in danger and she could do nothing to stop it. Age thirteen, curling into a ball as her father leveraged slashes across her arms and legs, yelling, “You will never be safe! Stand up! Fight! You must fight for your life!” The world might have looked upon those memories and think to themselves that Freddrick obviously did not love his daughter. But Seraphina knew better. It was not about _ what _ he did it was about _ why _ he did it. He’d done it to protect her, to teach her the lessons she’d needed to know in order to survive. Hitting her had hurt him as much as it did her but he did it for her own good. 

He’d loved her enough to liberate her. 

Seraphina found her words. “My father taught me how to protect _ myself, _that takes seniority over everything in my life. That’s what I’ve been taught to do. It’s in my blood. You could trust me to tell you the truth, and the truth is if you ask me to go against what my father devoted his life to teaching me, I will fail.” 

“But you already have succeeded Seraphina. My daughter is safe because of you.” 

“No. I killed that guard because if I hadn’t he would have killed me. I was a witness, they couldn’t risk leaving me to identify them, it was the same lesson my father learned with my mother. The only survivors are the ones that fight and _ win _ . My father taught me to fight and he taught me to win, that had nothing to do with Nestia.” He was asking her to live in castle. Something she’d been warned above everything else to never do. He was asking her to accept a life worrying about someone else's well being. That went against everything she’d been raised to do. “I have nothing against your daughter, in fact i’m doing this _ for _her as well as for me.” 

Seraphina’s mind wandered back to the sight of the waiter’s hand around her neck, his knife pressed into her ribs. 

“You’d be protected as well Seraphina. You can’t possibly think that in a castle full of armed guards you’d terribly unsafe.” 

“Isn’t Nestia? Why else would you be here?” Venom slipped back into her voice then and the Minister’s eyes went flat. 

Seraphina didn’t think the Minister didn’t love his daughter but he didn’t love her for the right reasons. It wasn’t that he enjoyed her company, or wanted to understand her. Nestia couldn’t have meant less to him, it was the price hanging over her head that was appealing. It was enough to ask Seraphina to selflessly go against her only values and another to ask her to do it for your wallets sake at the disposal of someones free will. The more she thought about it the more anger rose up inside her. With growing heat she said, “I will not kill myself to be your savior.” 

The Minister paused. His breath came out even and calculating. “I’m not asking you to save me, I’m asking you to save Nestia.” 

“Tell me you don’t really believe that,” her voice was condescending and jeering. “How much money did you make off Estera? Whatever you’re going to pay me won’t even come close to what you can sell Nestia off for.” Nestia was only one story of all the people trapped in cages by the men in their life. Penniless and helpless women stumbled around this world, hands out stretched hoping for crumbs. Seraphina was aware of her privilege of free will and she would not be someone else’s imprisonment. 

“This is not about money, this is about her life.” 

“Isn’t her life worth money though? Don’t act like I’m wrong. I’m not stupid Alcott. You’re going to come in here, waste my time and ask me to put your money above my life and expect me to say yes? You must be stupid one then, aren’t you? No wonder your counselors advised you not come here. You should listen to them next time.” 

When she finished the Minster looked down at the ground, defeated but indignant. 

Something inside her was glad he’d come before training. Seraphina knew that today’s training should have been a bit easier on Prescott after his week off but now there was no chance of that happening. Bloodworth had strolled in here sure that she’d be happy to prioritize his sick desire to sell off his daughter over herself. She’d forgotten how entitled people could be over her autonomy and anger leeched back in full bodied and hot red. 

He looked up at her, mouth pursed. A fire lit inside her. 

She took a step forward ignoring the way the guard’s attention snapped over to her in warning, “I don’t want your money. Now leave.” She didn’t want to see his face anymore so she turned and grasped the railing, meaning to slip down onto the platform

Before she could however, the Minister spoke again. Quietly, she wondered if she’d ever be able to get onto the sand today. 

“You said you didn’t do it for me.” 

Seraphina didn’t turn to face him.

He went on, “Then don’t do it for me. Never mind my motives, do it for Nestia.” 

_ For Nestia. _

How noble it would have been. How honorable and heroic. She could say yes, put her anger and her father’s lessons aside and keep Nestia alive instead. She remembered the pump of her heart as she watched Nestia walk away from the courtyard. She wished she could be heroic, but wishing was hopeless and kindness was a weakness. 

Seraphina was not noble. 

Finally she replied, “You have your answer Minister. Ask someone else.” She slipped down onto the platform. 

“Are you really going to be this selfish?” 

Seraphina stopped mid step to turn and meet the Minister’s eyes, “You don’t know what that word means. Good bye Alcott.” 

-

Prescott was more then pressing after that afternoon. It was later in the day and they’d both changed out of sparring gear and were now comfortably back in their clothes. Seraphina was glad to have her weapons back once again. She was beginning to wonder if the Minister was purposefully catching her at times she wasn’t armed. 

He might have have better instincts then she thought. 

They were standing outside the pit, people moving around them like a current. Seraphina had her hood up and her coat covered the short sword on her hip, there was another dagger hidden in a sheath in her boot. It wasn’t illegal to carry weapons on the street but she wanted to avoid catching anybodies attention and a women carrying a foot long blade was enough of an alarm for anybody to pick up on. 

The street was wide but stuffed. The buildings in this part of town were all toppled together with age, each leaning against another for support. The people were the same. They walked about, going from booth to booth and open shop doors looking for their goods and services. There were shops advertising sales and low prices and hand made ceramics. There were booths of vegetables and fresh fish and rocky voiced men shouting about trinkets and antique jewelry. Above the sky was slate grey. Cloud cover had rolled in from the harbor in the east, bringing with it the briny smell of the sea. 

Seraphina sucked in a breath of the salted air. It reminded her briefly of an old friend. A hooked smile and short blunt hair. Those memories were heaven compared to her current line of thought concerning Nestia. 

“Okay now you have to tell me what’s going.” Prescott announced in front of her. They’d been discussing the fights this weekend. Often times they’d go to matches together to watch some of Prescott’s upcoming opponents. 

“No, I don’t.” Seraphina eyed a pair of Watchmen making their way through the crowd. They were more casual then the ones at the castle--light leather vests with expensive looking coats thrown over their shoulders--but their chins were held aloft, mouths smug. 

Prescott replied, “But your friend are you not? You have to tell me.” 

“No. I’m your coach.” 

“Fine then, _ Coach _. Would you like to tell me what held up our training up this afternoon?” 

Seraphina slit him a glance. He smiled in face of her glaring and bumped her shoulder with a fist. He was starting to push it and he knew it. A few feet away Seraphina caught the attention one of the Watchmen, her eagle eyes poking out from under her hood. She looked away. Finally she said, “The Minister asked me to work for him.” 

There was an electric silence, Seraphina glared at Prescott's gleeful expression.   
“Don’t look at me like that.”   
“The _Minister,” _he said in a whisper. 

“Yes.” 

“The _ Minister! _ You told him no. You did didn’t you. You said _ no _!” 

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.” 

“Oh stop it. I’m right! You told him no! Why?!” He paused to let out a giant sigh, “You are an enigma.”   
“See you tomorrow Prescott.” Seraphina tuned and started down the street, leaving Prescott's laughter behind her. She neatly avoided the Watchmen and dipped into the nearest alley. The street provided safety in numbers but Seraphina preferred the grimey silence of the alleyways to that of the jostling street. Her shoulder was sore where Prescott had clipped it during their spar but she welcomed the shallow ache.   
Her head was a tangle of thoughts she’d rather not have to worry about. The Minister’s sly eyes, Nestia’s swath of hair and a distant friend. 

The pit was a safe haven where even the most annoying of thoughts couldn’t penetrate. But now that training was over and all Seraphina had to worry about was if the general store had the right kind of leather conditioner for her boots, they flooded back in. 

_ For Nestia. _

Everything circled back to that. _ For Nestia. _For someone else. 

But what the Minister had been asking _ wasn’t _for Nesita. It was for him. It was exactly what Freddrick had warned Seraphina of for all those years. In the Minister’s mind Nestia was an investment he was protecting, a champion stallion he couldn’t risk going lame. She’d seen the way Nestia had shrunk in front her father, gone quiet and private, that would not happen to her. Alcott would not buy Seraphina’s liberty. She would not let him take that away from her. 

By the time Seraphina made it to her seedy apartment building it was early evening. She took the back door, fishing her key out even before she came to it. 

For Nestia. 

She wanted it. She _ wanted _it. 

It was a foregin and disquieting thing, wanting. She’d disciplined her heart enough to not think of those things. She couldn’t afford to be a savior. She couldn’t afford to give herself up to the Minister for the possibility of a friendship. 

She got the door unlocked and slid inside. The air was thick with smoke and in the low light of the hall she couldn’t see much. She latched the door and made her way out to the front room. The bottom floor was a reserved card house. Round tables dotted the space, a few customers spattered about. They swirled their glasses and grumbled at the soft patter of cards being shuffled. With Seraphina’s entrance they turned to stare and their eyes caught on the knife on her hip. The smell of tobacco snarled in the air. Seraphina returned their scowls and turned to make her way up the stairs. The wood creaked under her weight. 

She’d moved here after her father’s passed, giving up their spacey two bedroom in the northern part of the city for this decrepit closet size apartment. With her father’s money and her deal with Prescott she could have stayed somewhere more cushy, but this was enough. Close enough to the pits and run down enough no one would assume she was an important person. Which if you thought about it, was true. 

A man in a grey suit passed her on his way down, tipping his hat at her and curling the end of his mouth. 

_ Prowler, _her father would have said. 

Seraphina paid no mind. Whoever he was he was the kind of man that preferred not to get his clothes dirty. 

The hall down to her flat was dark but yet clear as day Seraphina could see two figures standing in the walkway. 

Standing outside of her room. 

Suddenly the blade on her hip weighed her down. It was an intimidating thing, shiny enough to cut from just looking at it, the sharp edge alone as long as her forearm. Seraphina paused in the narrow hall, the smell of sweat and smoke filled her lungs. 

Guards. 

In blue. 

She regretted not hurting the Minister when she had the chance. Most people got the memo the first time around but it seemed he had a death wish. 

Seraphina didn’t make mistakes twice. 

They paid her no mind as she approached. She knew why they were here and they knew who she was. A small part of her imagined cutting off something important for showing himself here. Not only that but letting himself in apparently too. Touching her things. Gritting her teeth she stepped up, grabbed the knob and let the door fall open with a bang.


	5. Chapter 5

Nestia knew everything about this was a bad idea. She’d heard her father’s small counsel debate over it for half a night. She was surprised they let her listen in on the conversation but she figured that had more to do with her father not wanting to let her out of his sight then him thinking she was worthy of hearing it. But even though men had babbled about how unpredictable Seraphina was Nestia had done this anyways. 

She could have been attacked. Seraphina could throw her out and this would all be for nothing. She was going against her father. She didn’t know exactly what rule she was breaking but her chest fluttered with deceit. 

When she was younger she’d been quick to realize that girls had to follow a different set of rules then boys. Her brother would spend hours in the weapons hall learning how to fence and she’d spend even longer hours in the dance hall learning how to dance. He learned the art of diplomacy, although it seemed he’d forgotten much of it, and she learned how to embroider things. Lucien and Gabriel would attend meetings and greet the counselors with a sort of comradery. Nestia had to smile and stay quiet when they spoke of things that didn’t concern her. Like an attack on her life. 

Boys got to talk, girls had to listen. 

She wondered briefly, pausing in the center of Seraphina’s shoe box apartment, if the rules applied here. She wondered if she might have been breaking them. And then she wondered that if she was breaking a rule it meant that her father might actually talk to her. 

Seraphina’s apartment, put kindly, was lackluster, smelling of something sharp, patchouli or cedar. A wiry bed sat off to the left with an even thinner mattress on top, covers militantly tucked in, the pillow pristine. A small end table beside it held nothing but a book and an oil lamp. Inspecting the book Nestia saw that although the spine was soft with ware the cover was mintly kept. The pages weren’t creased or folded, free of dents or fraying edges. A small letter was tucked inside as a bookmark. Nestia pulled it out.  _ Seraphina,  _ it said on the front in striking letters. 

Nestia knew she was snooping. She stopped herself from reading the letter, thinking that a bit too far, but kept looking around the room anyways. 

It was bare. 

There were the normal furnishings for an apartment in town. A wood stove and tiny kitchenette off to the right, a wardrobe that hung open--the clothes inside folded with the same meticulous care as was used on the bed--a round table with only two lonely chairs at it. There was the closet sized bathroom, which Nestia didn’t go in but guessed it was as clean as the rest of the apartment was. 

The saying was that a person's eyes were the windows to the soul but Nestia always thought it was a person's room. Their lives, quirks, wants, hates and bad habits could always be spelled out in the place they resided most. It was a road map to someone's mind, and as Nestia looked around the room she found that at first glance Seraphina’s apartment appeared cold and calculating. Nothing about it seemed lived in or homey. It was not a place you wanted to go in and sit down for a drink or a chat. However at second glance it was bursting with a loving concern. The table top was clean and shiny, the wood stove gleamed, the window at the end of the room was smudge-less. There was a tenderness hidden inside all of the exacting neatness. Seraphina had sacrificed all of the homey details she could have added to the space to make it more welcoming in order to keep her belongings in good condition. She cared less about the aesthetic of it all then she did the actual well being of it. 

Nestia remembered that night at the wedding after the attack when her father held a small meeting in her room. He’d suggested hiring Seraphina and from his perch on the window seat Lucien had jeered, wine glass halfway to his mouth, “ _ Can you even leash her?”  _

Nestia wanted to point out that Seraphina wasn’t a dog but she knew better than to interrupt a conversation between men she wasn’t included in. Instead she looked to her father. He didn’t seem to notice the disdain in the comment and instead replied, “I did it with her father.” 

Now, staring at Seraphina’s room she thought that what Seraphina needed was not to be leashed but rather understood and then, mostly importantly respected.

That's when she heard the rattle of the door. The bang of it against the wall. She turned, knowing who she’d see standing behind her.   
Seraphina stood in the open doorway, eyes latched onto Nestia’s. Her breathing hard and fast but slowing after a heartbeat, something clicking back into her. Nestia recognized the distasteful expression on her face as it faded away. She’d been ready for a fight. Slowly Seraphina’s eyes scanned the room. When she was satisfied they flicked back to Nestia just as quickly as they’d left. Neither of them said anything. Nestia jerked her chin towards the open door, the beginnings of a smile forming. Seraphina closed it. By Nestia’s standards she had on plain clothing, brown trousers, shiny black boots, and a long coat. 

Nestia caught sight of the knife on her side and her heart hitched. 

The morning after the wedding Nestia had been convinced it had been a dream. It was too sweet to be true. That was until she saw the yellow bruising across her neck. Reasoning and feeling battled for superiority inside her. She knew she should be shaken or traumatized from the attack--this was her reality but that didn’t stop it from stinging--but she couldn’t help but feel excited. There were  _ rules.  _ Don’t interrupt people. Don’t talk about distasteful things like politics or violence, those aren’t for you to discuss. Be polite. Be agreeable. 

Seraphina broke all of those. 

She knew how to fight. She’d killed a guard. Wounded another man. She’d broken all of the rules and the Minister  _ wanted  _ her. Nestia’s father had gone out today, asking for her help. He’d dragged himself to the city pits to ask after her. Seraphina wasn’t the refined kind of girl Nestia was and yet Alcott was more interested in her then he was with either of his daughters. 

Nestia finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry for barging in but the guards wouldn’t let me wait outside.” 

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” Seraphina replied. “Who let you in?”

“The room keeper. Nice man.” He’d been sweaty and smelt of pork but he tipped his hat at her and told her any of the food and drinks downstairs were on him. 

“I didn’t know he did that for anybody other than tenants.” 

“It’s hard to say no to the Minister.” 

“No it's not. Did your father send you then?” Seraphina stood stalk by the door with her arms behind her back. Something dark came over her eyes then, mouth going taut. 

“No. He doesn’t know I’m here. All the room keeper knows is that the Castlewatch is in his building asking for access to a room.” 

Nestia had to sneak into her father’s study to get the address but if he had a say in this Nestia would be still stuck in her room rather then in the middle of the city.

Seraphina had a purposeful kind of beauty. Angular face, striking nose, tanned skin and watchful eyes. Everything on her face was calculated towards a salient kind of allure; her reserved but stony unbroken expression, the way her eyes were never anything but merciless or relaxed. When she’d burst through the door her face had been sharp with expectation. But now with Nestia’s explanation it went slack. 

Nestia asked, “Does that ‘No its not’ mean you turned my father down?” 

Seraphina didn’t answer but she worked her mouth. Nestia translated that as confirmation. 

She went on. “I’m glad you did.” 

Seraphina tilted her head. A question.  _ _ Her eyes said,  _ why?  _ Nestia looked down at her gloved hands. 

She’d worn the most inconspicuous clothing she had for this trip. She didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention and risk another attack. “Why did you tell him no? Anyone else would have jumped on the opportunity to work for the Minister.” 

Seraphina was still. Carefully she said, “Your father is not the kind of man I want to work for.” 

“Ha. You can say that again. He’d turn you into one of his dogs.” Nestia did as she was told because she had no other choice. Seraphina had freedom and a job, she could and would cut anybody that tried to take it from her. Nestia relied on her father’s money. She relied on his good graces. She had nothing without him, and no way out. The last thing she wanted was for Seraphina to get trapped in that, she was the best of all of them. “He’d boss you around and hang your paycheck over your head until you killed every man he wanted dead.” 

There was a whisper of a smile that crossed her face then. It was less of a grin then it was the lifting of her expression. Amusement. “It’s a good thing I said no then, I don’t like killing people.” 

Nestia could help but laugh then. “Yes I suppose you don’t. You did though,  _ Guardkiller  _ is what the counsel calls you now.” 

“He wasn’t a guard. And I never said I was above killing people, I’d just rather not.” There was small scar across Seraphina’s lips. For all purposes it was invisible but the sunlight caught the raised mark just right and it lit up. 

“I see then. How noble of you.” There was an empty pause then. Serpahina dipped her chin to recognize what Nestia had said but did nothing more. Wanting to know how it felt Nestia sat in the silence for a moment before she continued. The peaceful company of someone who wasn’t trying to win her over, order her about or debate her existence. On the other side of that moment she found that she quite liked the space to talk. She had time to piece her thoughts together, she didn’t have to rush to fit them in a small opening of conversation. “That night at the wedding you said that the world might be a better place if people listened to me. Did you mean what you said.” 

“Always.” 

Since she’d thought of this, Nestia had mulled over all the ways she could say this. There were so many versions of the speech that she didn’t know where one started and the other began. She could fill her entire life up to this point with the speech, never pausing for a breath, never hesitating on what to say next. It was a lifetime of small things that made up this story. She’d begun to think she might have been crazy for thinking it was something worth worrying about. Then she reminded herself that it was what it added up to that mattered. 

Her life had not been something made to confess, but she needed to find a way to do it. 

“Many people, including my father, consider Lucien to be one of the options for a successor if my father dies. He’s a drunk. Well, when he’s allowed to drink. He doesn’t want my father’s position. He doesn’t want any of it. He doesn’t even want a seat at my father’s small counsel yet he has one. His instructors think he’s lazy and distracted. He spends more time writing love letters to a girl whose family that hate my father then he does actually paying attention to the lessons my father has to teach him. Lucien doesn’t care and they all know that but they consider what he thinks or has to say anyways. He’s immature and dismissive but his opinion matters. His life, no matter how much father tries to boss him around, it belongs to him.” 

Nestia remembered how he stared down at the field below her room as her father debated with his small counsel the night of the wedding. Nestia had never been permitted into the meetings but from Lucien's behavior outside of them she had figured he wasn’t much better inside the meetings. She was right. Gabriel was like how he always was with Nestia’s father, attentive and wide eared. When there was an open spot to talk he took it and made it count. His words precisie and effective and Nestia’s heart lurching all the while. The counselors would nodd in satisfaction,  _ ah yes he’s shaping up to be a good leader indeed.  _ Technically whatever the Twins said in the meetings didn’t have to be considered but the practice, the learning is what mattered. Learning how to assert their opinion. Learning how to make it a convincing one, and learning how to make people listen to it. 

“I have to fight for a sliver of the respect that is practically thrown at my brothers feet. My father didn’t stop to ask who I wanted to be in charge of defending my life but he did think to ask the Twins. I’m not considered in any of this. If killing me would have earned my father money he would have done it a long time ago, and then he wouldn’t even have noticed I was gone.” Her voice shook with the effort to say all of it. Seraphinas unflinching gaze was a crutch. “The thing is my life does not belong to me. It belongs to my father. And he wants you to give your life to help keep mine from the poachers. But I’m asking you to help  _ me _ get it back.” 

Seraphina took a long pause. All Nestia could hear was the sound of shouting down that hall but her heart hammered away behind her ribs. 

She’d snuck out of the castle and went behind her fathers back. Her father would- Nestia didn’t know what her father would do. She’d never done anything like this. This was not allowed. Lucien would get a pat on the back if he was successful, a heartfelt thank from his father, but Nestia...she didn’t know what she would get but she knew it wasn’t good. 

After the stretching moment of silence Seraphina finally stepped over to the table. Moving so that she never fully faced away from Nestia. “Nestia…” She started and then stopped. For the first time since she’d come into the room Seraphina looked away from Nestia, to the window. It was as if she’d lost something when Seraphina took her eyes off of her, a blanket suddenly thrown back in a cold night. Thrusting her into the chill. Nestia itched to say something but she didn’t, Seraphina wasn’t ignoring her she was thinking. One of her hands was open and up, the other pinching her exposed palm. “I can’t do that by standing by your side with a sword.” 

This confused Nestia for a beat. Seraphina always seemed so sure. She’d cut down two men in a heartbeat and hadn’t even paused to think about it. From the tale Gabriel told she’d told the Minister to fuck off in more words then that. And she’d done it more than once after that afternoon. Suddenly, here was doubt. Seeping in through some unseen crack. “But maybe you can help.” 

“By working for you father? Nestia if I work for him he’ll take what little power I have over myself away.” 

“He would.”   
“Then why are you asking me to do it?” Seraphina looked distraught, her mouth crooked as if this entire conversation pained her. 

And then, “I’m not.” The thing was that as much as Nestia wished her father would acknowledge her, his insolence towards her lent itself to secrets. Seraphina’s eyes were wild on her. Nestia smiled, she looked a bit like her father when she did. “The Minister doesn’t have the time or interest to investigate what his daughter spends money on. Even if that money is being carried away to a bank somewhere, in an account under his name but not his control. It’s not enough to buy freedom but it’s enough to pay you what you’re owed, it’s enough to buy the skills of someone who will listen to me.”

For the first time since Nestia had met her Seraphina smiled. The curve of her mouth cleared as day. It didn’t last long. She blinked and looked away from Nestia, eyes studying something past her. With a small glance Nestia guessed her gaze was the small book that sat on the table beside her bed. “I can’t.” 

“Sera-” 

“What makes you think your father will listen to me? I am a woman just the same.” 

“You’re not. He’s scared of you, they all are Seraphina, because you’re unpredictable. They’re used to women being too helpless to fight back and men respecting them enough to listen. You don’t respect them and you’re not helpless. You’re a problem. A dangerous one. A threat to my father’s control over the counsel, his vote, to everything his position is built on. By principal he has to respect you enough to give you his attention in order to corner you. In order to turn you into one of his dogs.” 

“So instead you want me to be your dog?” 

“No. I want you to be a friend. A bridge between me and my father. Don’t work for me, work with me. I’m not asking you to give up your freedom, I’m asking you to use it to help get mine back. If I bring you back to the castle, if I am the one paying you, then he’ll have no choice but to go through me to get what he wants. From there I’ll figure out how to get some control back.” Nestia knew that she’d only have a small grasp on her father then, but it was a start. He might even deem her a problem too then, giving her even more of his attention. 

Like she heard an army approaching from behind Serphina whipped around to face the wall, she leaned against the table, her hands splayed on the wood. 

“Sera, please.” 

“Stop.” 

It was dead quiet in the room. Down the hall Nestia could hear cheering, and footsteps above rattled the ceiling but she kept her eyes on the curve of Seraphina’s bowed head. She was breathing with some effort, or maybe the effort was to slow the breathing. 

She waited for Seraphina to say something. 

After Seraphina’s breathing slowed she turned. She was staring down at her fisted left hand. Nestia felt her heart scream out but kept quiet. Seraphina opened her hand. Her eyes flicked up to meet Nestias, eyes sharp. Finally Seraphina extended her hand, palm up, as if to show Nestia. Taking her hand Nestia was painfully aware of the gloves that covered her hands. Seraphina was a fortress. She was the rolling hills of trees outside her window still untouched by man's hands. She was the wind on top of a grass noll, Nestia could taste the freedom already. 

A puckered line of scarred skin stretched across Seraphina’s palm. 

Seraphina said, quieter now that they were only feet apart, “My father gave this to me. He was dying, could barely sit up to eat. He made me vow that I’d keep myself alive. He cut me, and I cut him. He said he wouldn’t be able to die without knowing I gave him my word. I can’t take it back.” 

Nestia felt something collapse inside of her. Seraphina took her hand back. She had her dagger out before Nestia could even reply. Instinctively Nestia’s head said to move away from the weapon but with Seraphina at the other end of it Nestia didn’t want to. 

“I can’t break my father’s promise, but maybe I can make another.” Seraphina flipped the knife in her palm, hand out, holding it out for Nestia to take. 

Nestia was ready to sing. 

“I can’t promise I’ll sacrifice myself for you. My life belongs to another but I’ll work for you. I’ll train your guards and stand by your side and try to get through to your father. I’ll help you get your liberty. But it takes two to make a promise. If I help you, your freedom will not come at the cost of mine. Promise. You won’t try to make me one of your dogs. That I’ll always have a choice. That we’ll be a team.” 

“A team. I like the sound of that.” 

“You’ll have to take your gloves off for this.”

She did. Seraphina handed her the knife and extended her right hand, the unmarked palm. Nestia was surprised by how sure the knife was in her hand. It took a beat to convince herself to put the blade to Seraphina’s skin and another to cut. Seraphina’s eyes never left Nestia’s face. Blood dripped. There was a stripe of red across her palm. Seraphina took the knife from Nestia. She didn’t even notice the blood on her own hand as she took Nestia’s. 

Nestia felt her heart seize in her chest. It was the expectation of pain. It was the thrill of a promise. It was Seraphina. 

The knife burned across her hand, her eyes were the same. Nestia couldn’t help but grit her teeth against the bloom of pain. Seraphina would help her, Nestia wouldn’t ask for more than that. She didn’t care what her father would do when he found out she left without asking, or went behind his back, that in his mind she took Seraphina from him because in the end this had all been her decision. 

Seraphina held her bloody palm up. Nestia took it. The warm, stinging smear of it between their hands was the most exhilarating thing she’d felt since the wedding night. She went behind her fathers back, she defied him and she was successful. Seraphina wasn’t the liberator. Nestia had done this all by herself, she was already that much closer on her own. 

Seraphina swiped the knife on her leg and slipped it back in the sheath on her leg. Wordlessly she went over to the wardrobe she pulled out a piece of cloth that she quick tore some strips off of. “All right princess, lets patch you up.” She said as she came back to Nestia. 

“I'm not a princess.” Nestia let her take her hand and wrap up the wound. 

“Ministers daughter. Same thing.” Seraphina tied the cloth off, a whisper of a smile on her face. With her hand now freed Nestia flexed it, feeling the jolting shot of pain go up her arm again. Seraphina quickly wrapped up her own hand. “Don’t tell the guards about this, I don’t want to have to kill them.” She said using her teeth and free hand to tie it off. 

“Peachy.” 

Seraphina caught her eyes, expression keen. “Always.” 


	6. I want to strangle Lucien with my bare hands

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

“Ow! Would you let go of me-” Nestia gasped. Lucien had just ambushed her in the library, coming up behind her and taking her by the arm. The guards followed Lucien’s rushed footsteps into a small room off the main hall. She had already been headed towards it but for some reason he seemed intent on dragging her in there himself. “I don’t  _ think  _ I’m doing anything Lucien,” Nestia replied with a sigh, rubbing her arm where he’d held it. “And nice to see you too brother.” 

Lucien rolled his eyes and turned to shut the door to the room, leaving the guards outside. 

The library was a grand place. Towering ceilings, gothic spires, window panes large enough to let an army march through. The whole thing smelling of wood and glue and drying ink. Nestia particularly liked the room they were in now. Lavish and darkened. The ceilings here were lower but somehow the shelves seemed more desperate as they reached towards the sky. There was a small hearth and a long table she could sit and read or compose a letter at. 

The library was one of the newer additions to the castle. Most of the castle had been redone over the lifetimes since the uprising. It was a ghost of what it was before. But the library was a the newest of them all. When it had been built, ten private rooms had been made for each of the counselors to hold their private collections in. According to the inscriptions in some of the texts, the books in each of the rooms would be passed on to the counselor who succeeded the previous. Sometimes, Nestia like to imagine in the quiet evenings that this room, and all the books inside belonged to her. Lucien certainly wasn’t going to make use of any of them, and her father always sent for the books he needed instead of spending in time in here. 

There was a heaviness to the room, decades of history all holding its breath in these four walls. 

Lucien jerked one of the ornate chairs at the table out and sat down. 

Truthfully Nestia thought it was a little early for this, Lucien usually waited until evenings to pick fights with her. Also, often times the library was a place she could slip into to avoid him. Gabriel and Lucien were often busy in the mornings, attending meetings and lessons and getting to know the counselors. Hollins had a stash of books in his suite and Lucien could care less about extra reading.

“Why you were down in the middle of the city yesterday?” 

Nestia considered her brother. His twisted mouth and hollow eyes, there were shadows smeared underneath them. “You look tired brother. Did you say hi to Abigail for me?” She said finally going to join him at the table. 

“Fuck you.”    


“Language.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.”    


“I could say the same thing to you Luc.” Nestia heaved a breath and opened her book, trying to replicate the practiced dismissive air Lucien had during the emergency meeting that night at the wedding. “As for me, I hardly know what you’re talking about. I went to the tailor, I needed a dress made.” 

Lucien lowered his voice to a hush, “Don’t play dumb. You went to see Gregory.” 

Nestia met her brother’s eyes and didn’t say anything. 

He slumped back in his chair, he was all edges. “You know better then to go down to the city without permission, Nestia, it’s dangerous.”

“I was with the guards, and Gregory. I was fine.” Nestia waved him off. “How did you find out anyways?” 

Across the table Lucien narrowed his eyes at her. “There are a lot of things you don’t know Nestia.” He’d gotten their father’s deep set eyes and their mother’s razored brows, an indifferent mixture.   
Nestia wanted to throw her book at her brother. _Family, _her father had remarked once, _can be a wound or a weapon, use it to your advantage. _ She didn’t think that Lucien would be very useful in a pinch but she also knew that in their line of business that it was the name that counted. But what was the point of keeping him around when it was her name too. 

“There are a lot of things that you don’t know either.” Nestia replied. “I find it laughable you seem to think you know what’s dangerous and what’s not.” She added pointedly.    


“Abby isn’t dangerous.”    


“Have you forgotten who she is?”    


“If she’s dangerous then so are you,” he scoffed, as if he were proving his point instead of hers.    


Nestia considered the weight of her book. It was a hefty thing. Ten years worth of politics from her great great grandfathers time. “Like I said Lucien,” Nestia muttered, turning her page, “there are things you don’t know either.” 

Abigail Trelly. The only sister in a family full of brothers all jeering for power. The Trellys were one of the older families in the city, a heritage name. It was in some of the books in the room. Well off, the Trelly's owned most of the fighting pits near the southern harbor. They’d been the first ones to start selling individual stocks in pit fighters and apparently the idea had been more then profitable. And, lifetimes ago a Trelly had been responsible for the downfall of almost half of the serving lord counselors at the time. Even decades later the Trellys were a particularly outcasted family.    


Joseph Hatford Trelly had been serving as a hand for one of the counselors when, somewhere along the line he begun bribing the counselor's votes. It was a quick downfall from there that lead to one man controlling almost half of the counselors. Eventually he was found out, and he and all of the counselors he’d managed to bribe or blackmail were tried and executed. The country was quick to murder anything that felt too much like a king. After that the Trelly’s had never been respected. 

They never really tried to be honorable after that.

Rumors whispered they ran a underground network of spies and thugs through the city,  controlled one of the harbors, stole money from merchants in the form of self imposed taxes and went after entire families for one man’s debt. One even spun the tale that the Trelly’s were direct descendants of the long ago slaughtered king.  _ Tyrant Blood.  _ Nestia knew first hand just how inaccurate rumors could get. How wildly spun they became after being traded a few times. Like with the Twins. How they moved in sync, how they always ate the same meal, how they planned matching outfits. Nestia had never seen the two do anything of the sort, and in fact sometimes Nestia wondered how they could be so close when they were so different. 

Gabriel was a proud creature. Refined and watchful around her father. They all knew he wanted to be the Minister, he’d do anything for it. Nestia saw more Bloodworth in Hollins then she’d ever seen in Lucien. Her brother on the other hand could care less about politics, about the lessons and the history he was made to learn. The tasks he was told to carry out. 

Nestia wasn’t entirely convinced he cared about anything. Apart from trying to make things difficult for the rest of them 

As for the Trelly’s she was more inclined to believe these rumors. Even if she didn’t she had to respect them for what they were. 

Like her father had to respect Seraphina purely on the basis that she was a threat. 

“What could you possibly know that I don’t? You spend your time going into the city to buy new clothes and meddle about with your art and your dancing. I know how this works. I know Abigail. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.” 

“I never said that.” Nestia said, leaning forward. She was aware this was a dangerous conversion to be having. It only took one keen ear and everything she was warning Lucien against would befall them. It was the first time they’d talked about it since the wedding night, Lucien made a point to avoid her after that night. “But Lucien it’s not just about whether or not the Trelly’s are out to get you, if someone, anyone found out you were a sympathizer what do you think they’d brand the rest of as? Father’s loyalty would be questioned immediately, as would Gabriel’s and everyone else at the Minister’s Counsel. How is the Minister supposed to command a room full of angry politicians when they don’t even respect him anymore. We’d be thrown out, or worse, killed. All for a stupid affair you don’t even take seriously.” 

“I  _ do _ take it seriously.” 

“But what about the rest of it Lucien?” He paused then. Turning to stare at the spines of books lining the shelf, trying to ignore her. “This isn’t just a matter of her not being a respectable girl, it’s about the fact that if you were ever seen with her our entire family would be thrown to the dogs. No Bloodworth would ever have anything to do with the counsel ever again.” 

“We’re being careful.” He muttered. 

“No!” She shot back, half shouting half whispering. “You’re not being careful. I found out! Thats not careful.” 

“I burned the letters.” 

“That isn’t enough. You went and  _ saw _ her, how easy would it have been for someone to have walked in on you two goggling at each other and have known what it meant? What if it was one of her brothers? You would have been dead.” 

“God you sound like Gabe.” He lulled his head back, eyes to the ceiling. Bored and disinteresting. 

Nestia slammed her book closed. Lucien’s head snapped back to her. Nestia’s voice was hushed but taught, “Maybe I have a point then. Have you honestly thought about any of this or did you just skip along thinking there were never going to be any consequences in life?” 

Lucien flicked his hand at her. “Don’t talk to me like that.” 

“Like what? Like your brain has sunk down into your pants instead of being in your skull? Like you’re being a thick headed-” 

Slowly, Lucien said, “No. Like you know what you're saying.” 

Nestia willed herself to stay in her seat, to keep her voice low. “Wh-”

Lucien cut her off, “No. That’s enough. You know why there’s never been a woman on the counsel, Nestia? Because a week after you were attacked in the middle of the castle you thought it a grand idea to march yourself all the way down to the middle of the city and wander into that dismal little shoebox Gregory calls home for god knows what reason without telling anybody. You say I’m trying to get myself killed, well look at you. So much for all that preaching you just did.” He stood then, his chair screeching as it shot back. He was much taller than Nestia and he towered above her. “This is exactly why father doesn’t let you sit in on meetings. You see how it works once and assume you know everything, running around making messes for the rest of us to clean up.” 

The book was really, really heavy. “If I was the Minister I’d have  _ you _ married off instead of Estera,” Nestia replied coolly. “At least she wasn’t an over entitled babysitter.”

Lucien pulled back his hand, sharply. Meaning to hit her. Before he swung though he stopped himself. “Count yourself lucky father put me in charge of your watch, otherwise I would have hit you for that nonsense.” He bit back, shaking his finger in her face. 

Nestia worked her mouth. Feeling big in her shoes, and particularly tough after she let Seraphina 

slice her hand open she ground out, “Do it. See what happens.” 

Lucien smiled and then rapped his knuckles against the table, “You really are as dim as father says.” 

“You’re the one whose dumb enough to think me stupid.” 

Now he laughed. 

“I know something you don’t.” Nestia stood, she wasn’t eye level with her brother but she felt as if she was. Her hand ached from where it’d been cut. “Why do you think I went to see Greogry? Put myself in all that danger?” 

“I don’t know Nestia to swap hair pins. Although I don’t imagine she had one to trade. You two don’t seem to have much in common anyways.” Lucien’s mouth was a shark-like curve. 

“Seraphina turned father down, and not very nicely. Gabriel told you how she acted at the wedding towards him, all that influence and power and she didn’t even bat an eye. What do you think about that Lucien?” 

“Good. She’d have us killed just as soon as you claim Abby will. She’s reckless. Just like you.” 

“Well then, it’s a good thing she didn’t turn  _ me _ down.” Nestia picked up her book from the table. She smiled up at Lucien’s swimming expression. “You’re not in charge of my watch anymore Luc, so feel free to hit me if you’d like. But I’d be careful if I were you, after all you did see what Seraphina did to those guards. Two dead, one wounded, and all for just a little bruising around my neck. I wouldn’t put it past her to do something to you, I mean she  _ is  _ reckless and I pay her well.”

Lucien watched her, clearly unsure about how he was feeling. Nestia raised an overly concerned eyebrow. “Is there a problem?” 

“How did you-” 

“Convince her?” Nestia laughed, and started towards the door. Lucien stood still where he was behind the table. “Well you see brother, after a lifetime of listening to men talk I’ve picked up a few things. Father can be persuasive, but he’s used to being treated as an authority figure. Seraphina doesn’t see it that way. I on the other hand am used to having to get my way when I'm not even treated as an equal, it was a breeze getting Seraphina to listen when she already saw me as a person. Ha!” Nestia jerked the door open, pausing, her hand still on the knob. “Isn’t that strange, your dim witted sister did something our father couldn’t even manage. Huh. There's something to think about.” 

“You’re lying. You don’t even have the money to pay her.” 

“And you're wrong again brother. Maybe one day you’ll be smart enough to think me a little more skilled than just reckless. Toodles.” Nestia smiled and shut the door behind her, the clamor of guards following her as she made her way back to her room. 

Making Lucien look like a fool was easy enough but her heart still hammered away. Talking to the twins like that was one thing, she didn’t have anything to prove to them. Her father, the other counsel members, the world was another feat all together. 


End file.
